Wednesday, August 17, 2011

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

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

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.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

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/

Saturday, August 13, 2011

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

Thursday, August 11, 2011

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

Monday, August 8, 2011

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.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

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.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

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

Friday, August 5, 2011

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.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

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

Monday, April 4, 2011

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).

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Nazis Can't Surf


I recently saw "Surf Nazis Must Die" and am terribly torn as to whether it is the worst movie ever or not. Previously, I thought "The Room" was beautifully horrible. But now... now I am questioning that logic.

Which reminds me I should really write up something about "The Room." But not now. Now it is the time of the Surf Nazis.

Surf Nazis think they're totally badass. But for some reason all they're capable of doing is spray painting really badly, putting puff-paint swastikas on their clothes and stealing stuff. Oh, and randomly killing people in pretty nasty ways (especially 'cause one Nazi has a hood hand. And he goes surfing while wearing said hand. Right...). Adolf, their leader, acts like a stereotypical gay man and people who appose him make fun of him for this. Until he has an awkwardly explicit sex scene with his girl in the first 20 minutes of the film. After that, it's just weird. Especially when he returns wearing a cape with a giant swastika on the back. I can't decided if I should be more offended by the symbol, the ideology they're trying to link to it, the fact that they may have no idea of the ideology it entails, or how tacky it all appears. It's probably all of the above, really.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention the Surf Nazis surf (randomly, in wetsuits with more swastikas). It's like somebody wanted to make a movie about surfing and didn't know how, but also had this random anarchist subplot and tried to think of a really badass gang. And the most badass thing they could think of were Nazis. But they'd obviously never payed much attention during their history classes and had never been to Europe (especially Germany). Or they were trying to mock Nazis... and just failed. Regardless, this ridiculous hodge-podge disaster is worth watching. If only because I can't figure out what is exactly it's trying to accomplish. Or why anyone would ever think it was a good idea.

I won't give away the ending (yes I will - all the Surf Nazis die. Big surprise, right?) but I will give one last critique. If you're going to make a movie about Nazis, please learn what a Fuhrer is before you decided that you're main character is the Fuhrer of the new beach. Yes, I may be a bit obsessed with history. But such a painful insult to history and screenwriting that I can't help but think this movie is really the worst thing I've come across in a while. It is lacking the mesmerizing honestly of horribleness that "The Room" presents. But that almost makes "The Room" a better movie...

Ugh. You'd think it'd be easy to decide what's the worst movie ever. But it's just not that simple. To be decided at another time...
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