The Stars

We had a visit in my Italian class today from an Italian soccer player who plays with the Minnesota Stars, our local soccer team.

Okay, I admit I'm embarrassed. I didn't know we had a soccer team. But I'm glad we do. I LOVE THE SPORT. And am quite sad it hasn't caught on in the U.S. So yay - new team to support! I imagine they're fairing better than our pathetic excuse for a football team (Vikings, you embarrass me. You too, Gophers).

So if you're ever in Blaine, check out the soccer field there. And look for #19 and tell him Nels' 1004 class says hello.

Renaissance Men and Byronic Heroes

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Buzzword

I realize that I've been using the term "cultural studies" a shit-ton here (it is one of my majors, after all) but have never properly described it. THAT HAS TOTALLY BEEN ON PURPOSE. I've been scared to even take an attempt at defining it. And here's why.

Cultural Studies is a field of study that evolved sometime after the Industrial Revolution. Some place its birth at the University of Birmingham in the U.K. (remember when I said my interests come full circle? This is the sort of shit I mean. It's the bloody Brits again! :D) Others place it more with Marx. Others go all the way back to Georg Fredrick Hegel. Get to know Hegel's name very well - you may never have heard of him, but he basically created the way we think about history.

Point is, it had a lot to do with the French Revolution, the change in commerce following industrialization and the development of metropolitan life. It's pretty Marxist, so my conservative upbringing is often under my own scrutiny in this class (not to say I am or am not Marxist... my actually political opinions are WAY too complicated to bring up right now). It's also undefinable - really every theorist kind of has his or her own personal take on what makes up culture and what doesn't. Simmel sees culture as turning something that was natural into something labeled by humans, and thus not natural, a sort of process, if you will. There's a lot of stuff about process. Raymond Williams, on the other hand, gives an even vaguer idea of culture, again about process, but this from a historical perspective, as how the idea of culture has changed over time to become what it means now.

This is not a simple thing to study.

Vampire Nicholas Cage, Time Traveling, and Other Stuff I Wish Was Real

My dad sent this to me sometime ago and I've been meaning to post this but kept forgetting: "Time-Traveler" cell phone likely a 1924 Hearing Aid. So apparently this can be easily debunked, but watch the video from the guy, claiming that a person who appears in extended footage from a Charlie Chaplin movie on DVD is a time traveler (it's in the CBS article but I'll post it here for convenience):

So maybe it actually is a hearing aid, but who knows... it kind of looks like an iPhone if you ask me... And people at that time would NOT be that comfortable around video cameras. But then again, I love this kind of shit. Random time traveler caught on video camera footage? Of COURSE I want to believe it's possible.

I thought of this because of what I came across today on Twitter: apparently, there's this photo going around of a guy from the 1800s who looks exactly like Nicholas Cage. A guy was trying to sell it on E-bay, claiming it proves Cage is a vampire. Decide for yourself.

It looks kind of photoshopped and as I was looking for it online, someone mentioned that it was already debunked. Dammit.  C'mon, would it not be super awesome if the star of Ghost Rider was a VAMPIRE?

Clearly I don't have a very good grip on reality. Actually, I think I just like considering the idea of reality to be very flexible. It doesn't help that last night I dreamed I was meeting up with a study group on campus and we got attacked by weevils and Torchwood showed up. And I got sprayed in the face with weevil repellant. Right. Moving on...

And to top it all off, apparently this photo makes John Travolta look like at time traveler.

What the hell, why not...

Apples to Apples

I now know that fall is officially here - I ate my first Honeycrisp apple of the season today.

Why is this important? BECAUSE HONEYCRISP APPLES ARE THE BEST FUCKING APPLES I HAVE EVER EATEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. PERIOD.

I'm not actually being over-dramatic. As anyone who's ever eaten one can tell you, they are orgasmic. They'd probably be the apple that Eve ate in the Garden of Eden (all debates about whether apples can grow in the Middle East/ whether the "forbidden fruit" was actually a kumquat or some other vegetation) except that the Honeycrisp apple is one of those wonderful things modern science has created (like the flying saucer-shaped peaches) at none other than the University of Minnesota. But as far as GMOs go, it tastes pretty natural to me. Actually WAY more natural than Red Delicious or even Granny Smith now (seriously, I had a Granny Smith apple over the summer and it had NO flavor. When I was six, they used to be so tart they made my jaw ache. What HAPPENED?!) I mean, Honeycrisp have this great, sweet, juicy flavor and are super-crunchy, as if to announce to everyone around you, "Hells yes, I'm eating a Honeycrisp."

Other than being super fantastically delicious, they are also one of the few things in the produce section that only appear during certain times of the year. Thus, it's seasonal, local and fucking delicious. And special, because I can't just walk into Cub Foods in March and find it there.

So it's time to eat as many of this babies as I can to fully express the season that is autumn. I'm thinking of trying that baked apples recipe from Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution cookbook - I made those this summer with the gross Granny Smiths and they were AMAZING. WITH BAD APPLES. Imagine what it would taste like with these suckers...

A little something for a cold, rainy day...

After rain, comes the rainbow. And I know exactly what's at the end of it...

For the win :D

FYI

Yoko Ono is following me on Twitter. I am astonished.

YES, that Yoko Ono. There's a pun in here. I hope you get it.

Am I really that exciting? Well, now I have to be. Now I feel like I actually have to have standards. Less griping, more creative blogging. To the Cloud!

And THAT..., Part II

Just as I was leaving for band practice tonight, the doorknob to our apartment came off in my hand. [Львица] attempted to fix it after she had ALREADY fixed it before. See, when we moved in, the previous tenants had gotten locked out of their apartment on the their last night on the building. So after we moved in, [Львица] got the new knob and figured out how to fix it.

Except that [blue-eyed Mr. Fix-it] and his assistant [the other one] weren't convinced that [Львица] had done it properly. So they tweaked it.

Now note that it doesn't work. It was fine before they messed around with it. SEE, MEN, YOU DON'T KNOW EVERYTHING.

So now I am currently locked in my apartment, as I cannot get the door open with the knob off. If there are any other disasters tonight, they'd better be solvable without needing me on the other side of that door...

Let's Talk

Dear [X],

I know you don't read this blog, but if you by chance you do, let's just come clean here and now. You called me last night with the intentions of talking to me about some issues I won't discuss here (you asked me not to mention it to anyone; I'm trying not to but easier said than done, you must know). The only problem is: I caused those issues. I did. You SAID the things you don't remember saying, and I told the parties involved that you said them. Why? Because I thought you meant it. You seemed serious. But now you don't even recall saying it, ever, to anyone. Are you really that flippant about what you say about your friends? Are the conversations we had together really that forgettable?

I don't know why you call me to discuss these sorts of things. I really don't. Do you expect me to tell you that you're wrong, that you don't sound like a bitch sometimes and that people always misjudge you? I can't let you play the victim; I don't want to pity you. You put me in the middle of something that shouldn't have sides and it's very difficult for me to deal with. You expect me to agree with you on everything, but I don't. I never did. I don't know what you want from me. I DIDN'T cause these problems. And if you know that I told someone something that you didn't want repeated, how was I supposed to know it was secretive if you don't remember saying it in the first place? If you're trying to subliminally cause me to feel guilty, I refuse to. Yes, I do have a tremendous ability to blame myself for things I didn't do - don't use it against me.

This isn't even a problem with the people whom you've had issues with. This isn't because of [Львица] or [mind ninja] or even [the artist] or [shortage of perfect breasts]. This is because of you. I don't mean this as blame; I mean this because you're insecure with yourself, you're worried anytime anyone says something bad about you, you can't seem to understand that the things you say HURT people. I know that - I'm hurting you right now. But whenever anyone calls you out on something, you never stand by it. You never defend what you say. You just give in and get upset. Maybe you should explain WHY you think the things you do. Because if you can at least defend your ideas, people will be less likely to hold it against you; they'll see that they disagree. But when you just give in, you make yourself feel worse, you make them feel worse and you cause more misunderstanding. I've done it in the past, I KNOW how this plays out. That's why I'm trying to be honest with you now, even if it's only starting here, in a place you don't know exists. I have to be cruel to be kind.

Here is the sad, unfortunate, brutal truths of the world: people are going to dislike you. People are going to see the world differently than you and you may not like what they see. People are going to say hurtful things about you. Especially if you say things that can be taken badly first. Words can be beautiful and dangerous tools - we should know; we're writers.

I cannot help you any more than that. I don't know how to tell you that things have changed between us, that we aren't as close as we used to be, that I'm not the same person that I was four years ago. I don't know how to do this without pushing you away. It'd be easier if we'd both excepted the changes and just moved on. But if told you the truth, you'd just cling to the present, to all the great and terrible things I've said. It's an issue with time and opinion we've got here, but I have to make myself clear: I believe what I believe. If we disagree, we disagree. And we're going to have to accept that maybe our differences set us apart now. Maybe it's time to go.

This doesn't mean I think you are a bad person, or that I don't like you or that I don't in some way still consider you a friend. It just means that I don't know you anymore. I'm not really sure you know yourself. The girl I went to high school with would never have been called the things people said about her. So the fact that people are makes me doubt you as much as you seem to doubt people's recollections of events. I can't defend you if I don't know you. And I won't defend you anymore. I'm busy trying to defend myself from other events that have erupted in my life. You need to learn STRENGTH, dear [X]. It isn't easy, it isn't pleasant, but it's the only way. If you can't believe in yourself, what can you possibly believe?

I can't tell you how to do this, [X], anymore than I can tell you how to resolve the weirdness we're now facing. I've stated my opinion enough here. And now, it's time to hear yours. We're going to disagree, but it's the only way we can possibly find understanding, the only way to get through to each other.

But I can't make that decision. It's up to you now.

And THAT...

There was a strange, percussive sound coming from our apartment this morning. At first I thought it was a strange, very different rock song coming from [Львица]'s radio. But then I realized it sounded like water runnnings. As I walked into the bathroom, I noticed there was a giant leak coming from the ceiling.

Ah, old buildings.

It was the second leak that's appeared since Sunday. And now I'm beginning to feel bad karma about this job again. The good news is, things seem to be back to "normal" for now. But it's one thing after another, and another, and another...

Can't either of us leave for a day without chaos erupting?

The Doctor, God, and Life

So check this out on: How Doctor Who Became My Religion. Not only does it talk about how awesome the TV show is, it also features Craig Ferguson (I love how all of my interests seem interconnected. Like within a few degrees of each other. I wonder where Kevin Bacon fits in...)

Okay, okay, so I don't watch Doctor Who, I watch Torchwood. BUT they are connected. Thus I am kind of almost a Doctor Who fan. I have seen the episode about the weeping angels... but then again so has everyone else.

If anything, I want to watch the show to figure out where Torchwood came from (which I kind of know, it involves Queen Victoria and werewolves... and stuff). But I also feel like it's a show that's popular in the U.S. but not THAT popular. And Craig Ferguson loves it so obviously it's pretty cool.

Of course, some of my friends will say I started watching because they said it was cool or because Craig Ferguson said it was cool (which they' be some percentage right. It gave me initiative). But really what interests me is the bit about Doctor Who is the bit Cracked.com mentions that the show portrays - that we are not alone against evil. And the bit from Ferguson's sketch - about intellect and romance overcoming brute force and cynicism. WELL SIGN ME UP. I need way more of that in my life. Spending all weekend dealing with the remains of stress from school, working at the apartment and general everyday issues only to have [X] call me up with the need to complain about something petty and then suddenly have to go when I want to talk about myself is TOO MUCH. I need HOPE. I need romance and intelligence and faith and goodness to be rewarded at the end of the day. And I can get that in fiction, in sci-fi, in these two British TV shows. And if that makes me a nerd - well, I've always been a nerd. Or as Ryan, a guy in my Italian class said, "Nerds are just passionate. Everyone's a nerd." Damn right. Truer words have never been said. 

Craig Ferguson, I love you

I once again spent my night in a place I wouldn't exactly consider my scene - a casino. But not for gambling, no, not for that. Instead, I saw a comedy show featuring Craig Ferguson, a FANTASTIC Scottish comedian who hosts "The Late Late Show" on CBS and was on 'The Drew Carey Show." It was basically a dream come true, as I have been dying to see him since about... oh, junior year of high school? I have long believed that he is the funniest man in the universe. And this show reaffirmed this belief.

The show opened with a guy named Randy Kagan, who was super funny. Not as funny as Craig, but still fantastic in his own right. Then Craig Ferguson... ah, Craig Ferguson. If you can survive a rough Glaswegian childhood and alcoholism and still be this goddamn happy and funny, then you, my friend, are AMAZING. I just don't know how he does it. He starts off with a topic, then goes off on this tangent and, by the end of the show, he's back to where he started. It's incredible. And you're laughing so hard the entire time your sides ache. This guy can tell you a story about drinking 12 pints of Guinness and then taking acid and, while being completely honest about the situation, still make it humorous without sugar coating anything. I've heard comedy called tragedy plus someone that's not you, but I think maybe there's something a little bit deeper than that to really good humor. Something more sincere and emotional.

But whatever, I'm getting way too Oprah here. The point is, I had a not-so-great week. I kept feeling clumsy and exhausted and insecure and finally, FINALLY I feel good again. Somewhere between the jokes about Hitler having a nice ass because of goose-stepping and the bits about how Ren Fests aren't authentic because people have all of their teeth, all the little petty things that bothered me throughout the week evaporated. I'm laughing too hard at Canadian jokes and Craig Ferguson playfully making fun of himself that suddenly, nothing else matters. Douchey landlord? Bah. Awkward social life? Whatever. Being mostly unemployed and having no idea what to do with my life? Not important. Craig Ferguson making me laugh so hard I'm crying? NOTHING ELSE  MATTERS.

That's right, bitch - I know I'm funny

Humor for the win. I highly recommend watching this guy. Like, right now. Get off this blog watch him on Youtube, and laugh your ass off. And if you don't laugh... well, I can't help you there. But tell you what - I'll give you two videos for the price of one: one of my old favs and a random one I just came across. Not the same as seeing him live. But it'll do, it'll do.

Love Bites - But Bites Heal

My "love" horoscope from Friday:   Your emotional concerns are taking precedence right now, Scorpio, and this may impede your progress with love. You are well known for your intensity, but you are not quite fulfilled in terms of balancing that intensity with the day to day grind. Many of your emotional concerns stem from external forces or people, and you need to remember that you can not control the actions of others, no matter how much you would like to. You are best to stop taking things so personally, and understand that sometimes other people's issues are theirs and not yours. You've put a lot of work into your emotional health, so you should not let the issues of others threaten that.  Yeah, thanks for the heads up. Too bad I didn't read it until too late. I decided to break down and ask [X] about what the hell was going on with [No-Mr-Darcy], if he'd ever so much as mentioned me. She said she hadn't really talked to him about anything more than school stuff and, in a nice motion of trust and sincerity, said she wouldn't ask him about me as it would seem like breaking a friend code. That's a nice way of saying that, if he hasn't brought it up, then he doesn't care.
Unless he does and it just hurts too much to mention...
See? See what this is? This is stupid. This is me thinking that [No-Mr-Darcy] thinks like me. Which is stupid. I think like me - I can't assume that anyone else in the universe ever would. But I do. And it always ends up with me taking things too personally. A lot of the emotional shit I've been bouncing around in my head probably deals with this issue and I just need to let it go. Basically, I need to do this: 

 Thank you, Sara Bareilles, for once again saying exactly what I was thinking :)

Friday Night Paint Fight

A NOTE TO [Львица]: Sorry that there's random shit in here I didn't tell you about as to why I was uncomfortable. It didn't hit me until I was thinking it out. I'm not trying to cover up stuff, I just didn't realize that THAT'S why something was bugging me.

Anyway, continuing for on for the rest of you...

So [Львица], [The Question] and I went to a "paint party" called Dayglo at a joint called Epic on Friday night. I really had no idea what to expect - I must confess, other than a little trip to the Gay 90s on an empty Thursday night last year, I've never been clubbing. At all.

I'd say this event totally made up for it. I spent half of Friday  trying to figure out what to wear. The dress code was supposed to be white shirt, all white if possible, but blue jeans were okay. It's incredible how little white I have in my wardrobe - I actually had to borrow a shirt from [Львица] as all of mine were dress shirts and thus not paintable. The club wasn't strict about the rule but everyone was mostly in white. This was to allow for the full affect of the paint to take hold. See, what happens is everyone gathers on the dance floor and the DJ plays music and, after like an hour and a half of being in the club, you get paint squirted at you, in this weird meshing of several different art forms. It's pretty cool and it was a major life tile experience. Except for one, little tiny problem...

See how dedicated I am? Blogging while still covered in paint :D

Okay, two. Or three. I'm such a schmuck, making something as epic as this sounds grounded in my reality. But you want my take? Here it is. I like dancing - I'm not the best at it, but I do like it. However, I'm not a fan of how in clubs, you never have room to move without being on the edges and then it's just awkward. This was that to the extreme. At the beginning it was totally fine, we had lots of room. Then, as more people came in and pushed forward, we were slowly being squeezed in a vice-like fashion to the front. I escaped to the back for some fresh air, ran into [The Question] and regrouped with [Львица] Then it was back to the dance floor for the same process - more vice-like squeezing, this time with some guy trying to dance with me, which I was cool with at first. DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NEVER ACTUALLY DANCED WITH A GUY BEFORE. Unless you would count the uber gay guy who attacked me at a Halloween dance last year. And that was more dancing around each other.  I guess I should mention that little fact since I didn't realize it until just now. Well, another life experience made. And what follows is definitely an experience.

This guy starts dancing with me and I'm fine with it until all of the sudden he leans forwards, sniffs my hair or something, then licks the back of my neck. I realize now that, even if he'd been someone I knew, even if I'd know what he looked like, even if I HAD wanted him to do that, I probably still would have been freaked out. I just don't like people touching my neck - unless I really, REALLY trust them. God knows why; I tend to forget until people touch me my neck without asking and then I flip out (like a friend of mine from high school, [uber gay] used to pretend to strangle me - don't ask - and one day I just tweaked out). Great little imbedded phobia there. So, needless to say, having a random stranger repeatedly lick my neck was not cool. I started to push his hands away and then he grabbed on - hard - and tried to do the same thing again. So then I shoved his hands away and tried to flee, positioning myself near [Львица] and [The Question]. That worked at least. Until another guy came along later and aggressively tried to dance with me, but by this time I was sick of people touching me and I moved away. I realize that this is partly due to the fact that  "Aunt Flo is visiting" and any touching below the waist is totally unwanted. And I had a really unsettling dream the night before to put that sort of thing in a bad light (I won't make you suffer the details; it was creepy, moving on). But also, there is a difference between putting your hands on my waist and putting your hands on that area where my legs meet my torso (whatever the anatomical word might be). Yeah. So, my feeling that men are pig right now is not totally without reason (obviously not true, but I'm worn a bit thin, so bear with me).

Then the REALLY intense mosh pit began, where I fell and got pulled up by my some very kind girls, got my face squished between two bros' shoulder blades (dude, there were a lot of bros there. There were so many bros that they had to dance with each other, I swear) and lost an earring (the second one in a week. Damn it!) Then I got the weight of at least two quarterbacks forced on me as people swayed backwards and forwards in this... well, mob, basically. A big, sweaty, music-obsessed mob. A big sweaty mob that carried a man dressed as an alien in a plastic ball across the crowd (that was pretty incredible; the ball went right over my head). Then I got splattered with paint - which was SWEET - the wet, gluey-kindergardeny smell of the paint sweeping across my face in bold neon pinks and blues as music thundered in my ears and people cheered. Then I fell over and got crushed by people which was NOT SWEET as I had to scream at them until they got up off of me. But I did get the proud honor of walking through downtown Minneapolis with paint smeared across my face, watching the cops slug a guy who was harassing them, studying the long lines of people filing into clubs and seeing [Львица] get mistaken for Kate Winslet (by a possibly drunk man, but nonetheless, an easy mistake to be made :D). Go to paint parties - people will mistake you as someone famous. It can happen.

I fought aliens with Kate Winslet. Win!

Now my body is aching, I can feel the parts in my back that got twisted in weird directions and had weight forced upon them that I couldn't support. I still smell the faint scent of paint lingering in my nose. It wasn't an AWESOME party - it needed WAY MORE PAINT. And more space. Then it would have been fricken amazing. I did have fun and it was definitely and experience. I guess going to events like that just makes me feel like a freak, because I'm not really into clubbing, I'm not into huge parties. I'm not that sort of college kid, and I guess some people think I'm not really experiencing college if I don't go and do that shit. Well, I went and did it. But it's just not... ME. I totally support the people who can whip out on the dance floor and tear the place up. It isn't that I don't feel secure enough with my body to dance, it's that I don't feel RIGHT dancing there. It's like my body wasn't built for those sort of moves - I don't have super curves, my arms hate getting involved, I'm super short. I'm just stubbornly old school - I like swing, tango, waltz - ballroom dancing. I swear I got time warped out of the 1940s or something. I also don't know how to deal with guys like those at the club. I want guys to take the lead, but not to force their tongue on the back of my neck. At least I'm strong enough to push them away - but how someone could put up with that if they didn't want it is beyond me. It was DISGUSTING - and the dude totally needed to shave. In short, I guess I don't feel like myself there. Which makes me feel bad. [Львица] really likes clubbing and she doesn't know anyone who she'd feel comfortable going with. But I feel like I don't know anyone who doesn't want to go clubbing. That's the "college" thing to do - where girls meet guys, where you stay up on hip pop culture stuff. And by not going to that, I feel like I'm missing out on so much.

But college isn't the same for everyone. It's can't be. We were just talking about in my psychology class how we overestimate things, like how many of our peers drink or how many people do certain things. I suppose the people who go to clubs are just more talkative about it than the people who maybe go swing dancing or just go for a pint at the bar. Or maybe it just sounds more exciting and so the clubbing people are more apt to share it than the people who just had a night dancing to big band. I don't know. All I know is that I shouldn't feel like a freak for having these opinions, and yet I still kind of do. Alas, my own weirdness confounds me. But there were elements to clubbing that I liked - the feeling of the bass reverberating in the toes of my shoes, the synchronous movements as everyone on the dance floor moved in the same way, the appearance that I had just fought aliens as I walked home with paint smeared across my face. There are parts of it there that I like, but too much of it feels... not accessible or understandable to me. But that's culture - there's parts I'll understand, and parts I won't. And the parts that don't fascinate me in their own way.

CSI: Victorian London

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

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

You know what this screams? Conspiracy theory time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weird-ass Twenty-something

I had a weird conjunction of phone calls made today. It started with a call from Allstate, trying to get me to get auto insurance for my vehicle. First problem: I don't own a car. They said that wasn't an issue though, and that I could use it for whatever other cars I might be driving, using, etc. I said that I just don't drive that much right now but I'd keep it in mind. Which subtly hides the second problem: I don't have a driver's license. 

It isn't exactly from lack of trying, I did take the road test before I started college and failed marvelously. I planned on taking it again this summer, but really didn't spend any time behind the wheel, and so cancelled the test knowing I would just fail it again anyway. I'm not particularly a good drive, I don't particularly care, and I don't particularly LIKE driving. It's okay when I'm driving through the country to [uber gay] or [it's a twins thing]'s houses. But considering I35 goes right through my hometown, I HAVE to know how to drive on the interstate if I want to get anywhere quickly. And I hate the interstate. So, I have procrastinated to the point where it almost doesn't make sense for me to get my license anymore. I live in the city, I can take the bus, I can bike, I can walk. I save gas money and gas in general (more for those douchebaggy Hummer drivers to use instead). I love Mini-Coopers and Smart Cars, but those are the only cars I can picture myself driving. Sort of. And I don't even want one THAT bad. It'd be more for a fun factor than I actually WANT to be driving. I fear I have turned into some weird hipster that just refuses to conform and drive like a normal human being. People judge me for it and it's REALLY awkward to admit. But really, when did society decide that EVERYONE has to drive, hmm? Why do I HAVE to? What about people who can't drive - like the blind or the epileptic? Is it really that big of a deal? (Yes, it probably is, but I'm a cultural studies nerd, so thus I'm skeptical of anything that's supposed to "normal")

I admit, this isn't "normal" for a traditional twenty-something. But neither is buying tickets to the opera- another feat I undertook. I'm going to see Silent Night at the Minnesota Opera in November  on it's opening night. Is that impressive? Actually, yeah, it is - it's a brand new opera and it's opening night will be the WORLD PREMIERE. Considering there's only three new operas premiering this year in the United States, this is kind of a big deal. People from all over the world are flying in to see it. And I'm gonna be there. She who has only seen one opera in her life (Romeo and Juliet and I was so tired by the end of it because it was on a school night in high school that I can't even remember at all enjoying myself). She who knows very little about the structure of opera except for what I've gleaned from taking Italian, too many band classes and The Phantom of the Opera. Actually, I probably know more than I think I do. But something in me years to be part of the opera crowd, to attend some art form that isn't appreciated as much anymore, that only a small elite groups belongs to.

I am such an elitist. But it's another life tile to have under my belt. And a perfect opportunity to push my culture vulture attitude to the limits. Will I enjoy the opera? We'll have to see; Romeo and Juliet was a bit too... French for me, I guess. I'd really like to see an Italian opera, but that's just probably not going to happen this year. But I am SUPER excited to see this. I loved the movie, so I'm hoping for awesomeness in this staging.

So there you go - pondering on opera and my lack of driving. What a way to start the weekend.

Every 4th week

This pretty much says it all. And it's cute.

They're calling, calling, calling me...

My new obsession song. I just can't stop listening to it (even though it's been on my iPod for a month):

It reminds me of walking through a Glasgow night in the pouring rain. I don't know why exactly; I'm pretty sure I didn't hear it on the radio while across the pond (though she is British, I actually first heard this on SNL). Just a great song for a cold, blustery rainy day.

A fight for realism?

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

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

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

Catharine Willows, CSI

Gwen Cooper, Torchwood

See the difference?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a friend on the day of their major declaration

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

"America: It's like Britain, only with buttons"

The more British TV I watch, the more I realize how different the UK and the US are. It's kind of mind-blowing, really. Everyone thinks that because we all speak English, we're really similar. Watch this video and think about it (sorry, linking disabled, so we'll have to do it the old fashioned way):

http://youtu.be/s0eYRHZLHAg

This is from a show called Friday Night Project (which, according to Wikipedia is now called Sunday Night Project, but whatever). This show is totally gay. I mean this in a not-at-all insulting way. It's just got a lot of homosexual vibes. Apparently, being gay is way cooler in Britain than it is here. More mainstream, more - part of everyday life. Note to America: work on that, please.

Besides that, the cultural references are just WAY different. Like the celebrities they reference. I have NO idea who they are - and thus the jokes are lost on me. There's even something almost Japanese game show about the way this show is structured. Or maybe they're just having fun :P

Over all, it's the little things that get me. Like how we use words. I was doing the crossword today in the paper and one of the clues was "alphabet ender in England." Zed was the answer - because Zed is how you say Z in French. Which makes sense, they're close together. But how did the Americans shy away from saying Zed? It's too bad... it sounds cooler.

Speaking of different ways of using words, watch this other clip from Friday Night Project:

We have a game like this in America, too (which I was forced to endure by [novel killer]. At least I had [mind ninja] there for moral support). Except we call it, "Marry, have sex with, or kill." Which just doesn't have the same... levity. Plus "shag" is just a great word we don't have in our "form" of English.

Oh, Britain... sometimes I'm sad that we left your empire. Oh, the splendors we could share together. But then if I were British, this wouldn't seem as novel and exciting. Plus, if America still belonged to Britain, we'd be stuck in some weird parallel universe and it might be like 1984 and totally suck. So we're probably better off. No hard feelings, right? Right?

Sleep, stupidity and other manipulatible variables

I had another one of those dreams again. The shitty ones. It's amazing how painful and vivid they can be when they're not even real.

I don't remember most of it, I just remember being at this dorm or hostel or garage sale - SOMEWHERE - and being upset because [No-Mr-Darcy] hadn't spoken to me in three months or something (actually, it has been three months. Nice job at doing math, subconscious). I was complaining to [X] I believe and then [No-Mr-Darcy] turned up  and had some valid excuse for not talking to me or something. Then he asked me out for coffee and I felt bad for ever doubting him.

Which is totally fictional. He's never even tried to contact me. So why do I keep having this stupid-ass dreams?

It's the sort that of dream that sticks with you throughout the day, that pops up at random times then suddenly disappears, only to come back at the end of the day when you're all relaxed and you can't remember why you were stressed out earlier. The sort you don't know if you want to talk about because it's so vague and airy but you feel tempted to do so anyway, just to get it off your chest.

I know I said I was going to stop talking about [No-Mr-Darcy] about a million times already. I mean, how do I have the right to be so beat up over someone I hardly know? And yet my subconscious won't give me a break. Every other week it's like this now. And I think I know why.

I keep debating whether I should ask [X] if she's talked to [No-Mr-Darcy] at all. If he's mentioned me, shown the slightest inkling in wondering if I still exist. But I'm afraid of what the answer might be. If he hasn't asked about me, it shows he doesn't care in the slightest. If he does ask about me, he probably thinks it's my fault that things didn't work out. And there's no easy way to bring this up in conversation with [X] (which is limited anyway) without sounding desperate or conniving or just plain weird. Or thinking that I still care for him.

Do I still care for him? I can't say yes, I can't say know. It's limbo all over again. Thus I haven't mentioned any of this to [X] at all. But now I think it's beginning to wear at me. I have to know, even if it tears me apart.
 
Really, what difference would it make if I knew? None. It's not like I really feel up to trying to work things out or anything. It's not like he probably does either. I guess I just want this little uncertainty erased, to see if I can regain any of my pride. To see if I'm owed any sympathy. I don't really know what I want. But it certainly wants something from me. Else my subconscious wouldn't be fixating on it so.

And yet, at the same time, I feel like I'm waiting for something - either the opportune time, for me to just get over it, or for something else to happen. Ah, time - how you baffle me. I've gotten no sense of the opportune time, and I certainly don't seem to be getting over it. Maybe it's time I take matters into my own hands. I can't force myself to forget. I can't force myself to let go. Maybe I should ask [X], maybe I should grow a pair and ask [No-Mr-Darcy] what the fuck happened.

But no decisions now. I always get melodramatic when it gets later at night. I'll sleep on it, and see how I feel tomorrow. If more of the same... well, maybe it's time to try something different. Maybe something I haven't even thought of yet. We'll see... time will tell. I hope.

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

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

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


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

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

Unfriended

This keeps happening - every once in a while, someone I knew from high school will pop into my mind and I wonder why I haven't seen their statuses on Facebook for a while. Then, awkwardly, I'll realize they've unfriended me. It isn't a big deal, in face I shouldn't even be concerned about it. But it's just... well, strange.

I'm not a particularly outgoing person. Despite how much I jabber away on this blog, I don't actually jabber this much in person. Maybe it's because I don't communicate enough that people decide, "Oh, she never talks to me. Why should I keep her as a friend?" But I'd like to keep in contact with people from high school, even if I didn't know them that well. Take [singer/songwriter/doctor] for example. She and I go to the same university. We had a bunch of classes together in high school. She's friends with my best friend from high school, [Broadway baby]. She's someone I just casually know, but know enough to be Facebook friends with - or so I thought. But yesterday I noticed we're Facebook friends no longer.

This sort of thing tends to get me paranoid. Did I say something to offend them? Am I just too obnoxious? Not obnoxious enough? Not cool enough? Do I just make people want to run in the other direction?

Fuck that shit. I am a perfectly fine person. I don't need to have a bunch of friends on Facebook or have a bunch of people follow me on Twitter to feel liked (though it certainly helps...) I like myself the way I am, even if I have to sing "I Am What I Am" a thousand time a day to make myself believe it. I have the friends I need and the friends I don't can go do their own thing. And if people don't like me for who I am - tough shit. I am sick of feeling inadequate around people who don't care anyway. So go ahead, people from high school, unfriend me. You don't know me now anyway. You don't know what you're missing out on. :D

Yes, this is the truth in my insecurities - it's actually a cover for how much of a narcissist I am. Watch out, world...

In Sickeness and In Health

I came across this article this morning while scanning the headlines on Google New: Pat Robertson Says Divorcing Spouse with Alzheimer's is OK.

Now, from the beginning, I should admit that I already have great dislike for this televangelist. He's way too focused on Armageddon. He condemns feminism, homosexuality, and liberal college professors. He describes feminism as a "socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians." He states that acceptance of homosexuality could result in natural disasters like hurricanes, earthquakes, tornadoes and other threats like terrorist attacks. Apparently Robertson thinks Scotland is a "dark land overrun by homosexuals" (this cracks me up actually. I'm not even offended by this one, it's so ridiculous). Don't even get me started on what he said about the earthquake in Haiti. (I admit that I got most of this info from Wikipedia - from Pat Robertson and Pat Robertson controversies - but I still stand by the fact that Wikipedia has good source links. Besides, it's less biased than this post is going to be).

Now that I've admitted I'm biased while subtly trying to persuade you to side with me, back to the thing about Alzheimer's. First off, he does say that he would guilt trip people for doing this. But why say it's okay in the first place then? He states that Alzheimer's is a "kind of death."

This leaves me kind of speechless. Yes, Alzheimer's is a terrible disease. Yes, it is incredibly hard for spouses to go through. But it isn't the only terrible disease out there. Once you say it's okay to divorce someone with Alzheimer's, it it okay to divorce someone because they have have cancer? Because they have lupus? Because they have depression? After stating that one disease is grounds to divorce someone, how can you keep this from snowballing into something uncontrollable.

And Robertson, who condemns abortion, who seems like the sort who could condemn taking someone off of life support or any sort of assisted suicide, has blatantly labeled this disease as a form of death. How is this different from euthanasia? Yes, you're not actually killing the person but you're already labeling them as dead. I simply don't understand how this sort of cognitive dissonance can exist.

And all of this coming from a man who belongs to the front crying that if homosexuals were allowed to get married, the institution of marriage would be destroyed. However, I think Robertson completely misunderstands the institution of marriage overall. Especially the little bit "in sickness and in health." Marriage is supposed to overcome all obstacles - that's what strong, eternal love is supposed to do. Of course, this isn't always the case - sometimes divorce is better for both people. Everyone's relationships are different, after all. But I feel like there's extreme differences between both people wanting divorce for the betterment of each other or one person or a couple needing divorce because their relationship is unhealthy, and one person wanting to divorce their spouse because they don't want to deal with their sick partner. Aside from what God says on the topic (there's plenty and I'm not going to try to paraphrase it here) Robertson's words weakens marriage by implying it CAN'T overcome something like this. Really, Robertson, you won't let two men or two women who love each other let their relationship get legitimized but someone who doesn't want to deal with their sick spouse can get divorced? Maybe I have a totally romantic, idealist idea of love. But somehow, I feel like I'm right on this one. Sickness is terrible, love is not easy, life is hard - but life and love will endure. Isn't the idea of marriage itself proof of that?

Teeth, Part II

So this morning I was reading this article my dad sent about killer tricks to use on an Apple operating system. Then this came up at the end of the article for suggested reading: Self-Defense Gadgets. And this was the first thing I saw:

It's a a Tampon Taser. It's a "serious electric weapon built into a feminine-hygiene product." So just in case you're afraid of someone finding your stun gun in your purse, but less afraid of tampons falling out, this is the weapon for you.

There were some pretty interesting gadgets in the article (I personally like the shotgun built into a flashlight) but the "pink stinger" stood out the most to me. A nice flashback to the movie Teeth where vaginas are armed and dangerous. Just think, this gadget could be used in the sequel.

Well, that was quite homoerotic

After an interesting lecture on "Holocaust Envy" [Львица] and I went to a pub called Town Hall Brewery for dinner and to have an "intellectual conversation" on the presentation we'd just witnessed. Amidst our critiques and questionings, [Львица] noticed two men sitting at the bar, one apparently doing an eye exam on the other. We thought it was odd, but turned back to our conversation. Then, while passing by an eye glasses shop in Dinkytown today, the event returned to my mind, along with this fun factoid: Top 5 Jobs for Gay Professionals. Yes, that's right boys and girls - apparently people in the gay community are drawn to helping people improve their vision. I can't remember where I first heard this statistic, or why it would have come up, but it's one of those random things to throw into conversation. Like the fact that plants can have fevers (did you know that? [Львица] shared that knowledge with me after finding it on the inside of a Snapple cap. Yes, that's now where I get my scientific information from).

But back to our dear friends at the bar. Either we watched two men practicing doing eye exams just because... but if at least one of them really was an optometrist, and if they were both gay, maybe we just caught some kind of kinky foreplay. C'mon, like you never used your job to impress someone. You know what Captain Jack would say...

This video took me like an hour to find on Youtube. Seriously, be proud of me - I beat the big, bad video posting sight. Also forgive the two hundredth Torchwood reference this week.

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?"

Bisexuals and eternity, or: yes, this is what I spend my spare time pondering

As I stated previously, the BBC show Torchwood has begun to take over my life. So much so that this strange unidentifiable bugs that inhabit our apartment building have earned the name "weevil bugs" even though they don't look like the actually weevil or the weevils from the TV show. But calling them weevil bugs at least incorporates how alien they look.

An actual weevil. I could make a Master and Commander reference, but I'll spare you.

A weevil from Torchwood. I think this one is named Janet.

What we're dealing with.... gross gross gross gross gross gross.

Upon looking for images of our little "weevil bug" I have since discovered that our strange creature is in fact centipedes. WHICH I LOATHE.  Seriously, they are one of my least favorite insects ever. FUCK. Well, I'm still going to call them "weevil bugs." Because for some reason naming them after aliens from a TV show somehow makes them less terrifying than calling them by their real names. Unless they start actually looking like weevils... *ugh*

Anyway, I digress. Point is, I'm obsessed with this show. It's killing me that we know that the main character Jack Harkness can live forever but we don't really know who he is, what's happened to him, how he joined the organization Torchwood. Thus the reason the show is so damn addicting. But over the course of watching the first season (we're into the second season now, yay!) I've noticed something - though the show focuses on relationships with Jack  that usually involve men, the writers have also hinted at heterosexual relationships (note season 1, episode 5 - "Small Worlds," for those who are as nerdy as me :p). Which reminded me, strangely enough of another sci-fi/fantasy series I'm interested in - namely, Cassandra Clare's The Mortal Instruments series.

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...

Update Complete

I have FINALLY after a month finished remodeling this blog. And accepted that I shall call myself by a pseudonym - so no more worrying about whether anyone will find this blog and know who I actually am. Though it's still totally possible. Really, I just wanted to use a fake name since I gave one to everybody else.

So there you go - update done. Let's rock and roll.

It was a Tuesday, but I don't remember that now...

Ten years. It's been ten years since 9/11. I feel almost required to make a post about the anniversary, but I don't feel pressured to do so - I want to. That day was a nightmare for me, not because I knew anyone in New York or DC, not because I understood what was happening, but because it firmly drew the line for the end of my childhood, as if someone had taken a bit of rope and slashed it in half. [Львица] mentions repeatedly how it's incredibly how everything, EVERYTHING has changed because of that event. "It's our JFK," she says. It's true. It's that one tragedy that you remember forever and have a hard time acknowledging how long ago it actually happened.  It blows my mind that the children who are 10 years old now were just infants when it happened. They don't remember it, but they're learning about it, via the TV, their parents, school. It's weird for me to think that this event is history... but it is. How is it being taught? How is it being remembered? What does it mean to someone who is the same age as me when it happened but is learning about it ten years later?

I don't know the answers. I only know my own experiences. I write this post today instead of yesterday because I simply couldn't write it on the anniversary. All of my thinking about the even happened after the 11th, and that's still how I seem to operate. I can talk about it any day that isn't 9/11. But when it's the anniversary, I get all shook up and teary-eyed and little paralyzed with fear. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to think about it. It's like I remember 9/11 on everyday it happened... except the anniversary. Then I don't want to think about, if only because it's the only way I feel I can pay proper respect to those who dies. Besides, 9/11 was the most unsuspecting of days, a day like any other.  It's anniversary is now no longer that way and perhaps why it's easier for me to write about it on an average day (not that any of the days following the 11th felt average in 2001). Everything has changed and we're still dealing with the changes. The most important thing is to see how far we've come. Did I think that 10 years later I'd be writing my own blog, in college, with my own apartment? Not at all - I didn't even know what college was then. It blows my mind how much has changed. What will things be like another ten years? Fifteen? Twenty? Who knows? Only time, our great friends and our great enemy, will tell...

Have a Tantrum

So this seems to be my new musical obsession, Fitz and the Tantrums "Don't Gotta Work It Out":

Live while cruising the canals of Amsterdam - what's not to like?

Seriously, I've had this song stuck in my head for days now. I love the sort of 70s mo-town vibe mixed with a sort of... je ne sais quai. 1940s jazz? Something like that. And this live a cappella version adds a nice unchained, sort of improv element to the piece. This is just one of those songs I could listen to again and again and again...

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.

Culture, food and why I'm a vulture

I had a strong, intense feeling the other day of just exactly how much of a "culture vulture" I've become - although I'd like to think it's more from a learning standpoint than exploitative. I was sitting in a falafel shop discussing with [Львица] the merits and disadvantages of becoming a vegetarian. I love talking about food. It's one of the few things that combines nearly all aspects of my education in one facet - sciences, health, history, language, labor, economy... the list goes on. Then I begin thinking about all the things that interest me. And how I want to study everything.

And while we continued eating our hummus and falafel, we began having this huge intellectual conversation about GLBT issues and then back to vegetarianism (and how apparently [novel killer] wants to try to follow Ramadan, so religion eventually came up too). Then I end up with this huge mental web of all this stuff tying together, not just because of how the conversations link but because everything DOES link together. I know I might be seen as a sort of flaky eccentric who likes trying everything, but I like to try different stuff, to experience things that I can't understand. I love trying different foods like falafel and curry dishes and sushi that fifty years ago were nonexistent in American cuisine. And I like how so many differences can still connect to so many similarities. Take food for instance again, because it's a great example and the easiest to work with. So many cultures have a version of dumplings, but they're all a bit different - there's actual dumplings in several different forms, gnocchi, ravioli, wantons, spatzle, pierogi, empanadas... the list goes on and on and ON. All these versions of dumplings are different - but it's the same basic idea.

One of my classes this semester, the only Cultural Studies course I'm in this fall, keeps mentioning how aspects of our culture, especially the university system, presses too much for separate disciplines. And when everything relates to everything, that may not be the best way of going about things. Being anti-disciplinary isn't easy... but it sure makes things a lot more interesting :D