I have learned more about mitosis, meiosis, stem cells and Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome tonight than in the past four weeks of Human Heredity. Good thing, too, because I have my first mid-term tomorrow--a strange set-up in which we are presented with 5 abstracts (which I've been studying all night) and asked 4 or 5 questions about each one.
I couldn't have made it without Wikipedia. Thank you, people of the world who care enough about genetic processes to educate the masses through an unofficial reference website!
(Although, one contribution about Meiosis seemed a little wacky. Spot the irregularity! "The word "meiosis" comes from the Greek meioun, meaning "to make smaller," since it results in a reduction in chromosome number in the gamete cell. meiosos is sex Meiosis is essential for sexual reproduction and therefore occurs in all eukaryotes (including single-celled organisms) that reproduce sexually.")
This morning, along with Connie, I turned in my Pune application. Which means I'm down to 3/5 applications completed, the other two only lacking a couple of factors (i.e. transcripts, recs) which I fully expect to be taken care of soon.
I assumed that, with the onslaught of my India applications subsiding, I would be able to relax enough to consider the idea of possibly finding the free time to read a book (I owe A. a discussion about Rabbit, Run, this I haven't forgotten.)
Sadly, this won't be possible for at least another week, because:
Monday--Hindi Composition due, Hindi Mid-Term (the same day. Nice.)...work
Tuesday--IS 4-5 pg. paper due about water/oil issues and solutions (i.e. drag a big bag of fresh water through the ocean. Have you heard this one?)
Wednesday--work, ECO
Thursday--Environment & Religion 3-4 pg. paper due about I-don't-know-yet, NSEP interview
Friday--work, collapse
Actually, right now I should be finishing the Hindi homework I didn't finish for today, as well as the assignment that's due tomorrow.
Come on, Uchi. Settle down.
....................
In other news, I had a revelation Monday. That we should be polygamists! (Just kidding.)
But really, my revelation was about how I can start an absolutely new chapter in my life. How I could purge that which I don't need, and end my attachment to feelings that are both inaccurate and destructive. It was supremely peaceful. I was worried the epiphany would end as quickly as I experienced it, but I'm still in the same state of mind. And I'm still peaceful.
I haven't felt this secure--in this area of my life--in quite a while (i.e. eons).
Still a little wavering on the Bio mid-term, though.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
anti-people-sheep and pro-sheep-sheep
Do not say the words "statement of purpose" to me.
Because I will cry. I will embarrass you when fat, exhausted tears work their way over my lower lids and fall to the floor in between us. I will make you uncomfortable when I sink to that floor and curl into the fetal position, rocking back and forth to remind myself that there's still a little bit of soul within me.
In fact, do not even be suggestive. Don't say "State... of the Union address" or "State marriage license". I could still burst into flames upon hearing it.
With all of the crap one must produce and consume to "succeed" in society, I can understand how one would give it all up and become a farmer.
That's right, a farmer. A Christian Evangelical Organic Sustainable-Practices Farmer. I want to herd some sheep. I want to grow a tomato. Just like the Lamb of God people, who came to my Religion and Environment class and talked about their organic, sustainable ways. It's all a part of the bigger Christian agrarian movement, in which the whole Biblical thing where God calls us to be "good stewards" is taken quite seriously.
So I'm not a Christian. I can still grow a tomato and lead some sheep and get closer to God. God being the universe. God being everything.
I'm only about 20% kidding, by the way. I really do kind of want to farm something. And tend a flock of sheep.
But for now a cat or a dog would do. Where are the pets when you need some serious soft, warm fluffiness following soul-wrenching application grind-work?
Because I will cry. I will embarrass you when fat, exhausted tears work their way over my lower lids and fall to the floor in between us. I will make you uncomfortable when I sink to that floor and curl into the fetal position, rocking back and forth to remind myself that there's still a little bit of soul within me.
In fact, do not even be suggestive. Don't say "State... of the Union address" or "State marriage license". I could still burst into flames upon hearing it.
With all of the crap one must produce and consume to "succeed" in society, I can understand how one would give it all up and become a farmer.
That's right, a farmer. A Christian Evangelical Organic Sustainable-Practices Farmer. I want to herd some sheep. I want to grow a tomato. Just like the Lamb of God people, who came to my Religion and Environment class and talked about their organic, sustainable ways. It's all a part of the bigger Christian agrarian movement, in which the whole Biblical thing where God calls us to be "good stewards" is taken quite seriously.
So I'm not a Christian. I can still grow a tomato and lead some sheep and get closer to God. God being the universe. God being everything.
I'm only about 20% kidding, by the way. I really do kind of want to farm something. And tend a flock of sheep.
But for now a cat or a dog would do. Where are the pets when you need some serious soft, warm fluffiness following soul-wrenching application grind-work?
Saturday, January 26, 2008
hey, hey, hey, hey.
Best moment from last night:
Our neighbors (the ones with the identical goldfish view through the living room window) were having a party. A., U., and I were eating pizza and talking in our living room. We heard their talking. We heard Savage Garden. We heard Semisonic. Clearly, this was a nostalgia party.
Then, suddenly, the familiar strains of "What's Up" by 4 Non Blondes were drifting into the room.
This is the song T. learned on the guitar and played all the time during the spring and summer. This is the song that has helped me form bonds with my friends. This is a song that must be sung at the top of the lungs. This is the song that requires all of the frustrated emotion that can be conjured. Even if you're not at the party.
So we sang it--loudly--and in response, the party sang back to us.
It was a beautiful 2 minutes and 28 seconds.
Our neighbors (the ones with the identical goldfish view through the living room window) were having a party. A., U., and I were eating pizza and talking in our living room. We heard their talking. We heard Savage Garden. We heard Semisonic. Clearly, this was a nostalgia party.
Then, suddenly, the familiar strains of "What's Up" by 4 Non Blondes were drifting into the room.
This is the song T. learned on the guitar and played all the time during the spring and summer. This is the song that has helped me form bonds with my friends. This is a song that must be sung at the top of the lungs. This is the song that requires all of the frustrated emotion that can be conjured. Even if you're not at the party.
So we sang it--loudly--and in response, the party sang back to us.
It was a beautiful 2 minutes and 28 seconds.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
All the Lonely People...
I have been thinking a lot about relationships lately.
Not that this is particularly unusual. Relationships are fascinating to me; they're so complicated. Especially when love is involved. Then it's supremely complicated. Because, as far as I've seen, love is one of the only things that makes a rational person act irrationally.
Other things I can think of: 1) insanity, 2) depression, 3) philosophical confusion.
U. and I had a relatively long conversation today, as we do on occasion, where we tried to Get Somewhere in our thoughts on relationships. It started because she wanted to know what I thought about historical in-love (historical story in-love, mostly) versus contemporary in-love. What, she wanted to know, did I think were the differences?
We agreed that historically it seems like maybe it was more of a crap-shoot. In-love is all about instant passion--what with all the stories about Boy Sees Girl, Boy Thinks Girl is Pretty, Boy Does Insane Things In Name of Love For Girl. This concept seems timeless, I guess, but I think it's growing more archaic. Neither of us liked this option of in-love, because 1) the be-all-end-all virtue of Girl in this scenario is visual beauty, which in reality doesn't say a whole lot except that Girl is fun to look at, which sucks for Girl and feminism is general, and 2) this is a pretty precarious situation. This story usually ends in Marriage, which is happy and probably followed by great sex. But what about when they have to buy a house? Or go see a movie? Or spend time in each other's company, in general? NIX this story. It's too pretty and too simplistic.
The interesting thing is, historically, in-love was definitely not the big deal it is now. If we're gonna get REALLY historical, you were probably matched with someone whose parents made a deal with your parents. If we're gonna get kinda historical, you usually just kinda picked someone who you might have thought was kind of cute, but who definitely had the same socioeconomic status, lived in the same village, and didn't have a deadly disease yet.
So, maybe historical in-love is so optimistic and outlandish because it wasn't expected for everybody anyway? I don't know.
Anyway, it seems like these days, romantic stories are all about the big connection. At least, the pre-courtship process (i.e. I like you, let's get to know each other, now we're friends, and I really like you, etc.) is much more important than the actual marriage at the end. Now there's almost always a break-up involved because of miscommunication, and a getting-back-together due to the fact that both (cue sappy song) are reminded of the other by something they both relate to.
Before, crisis was more about things keeping the lovers apart (families, dragons, y'know). Now, crisis is about miscommunication.
(By the way, I should just throw in that this is all semi-ignorant, unresearched speculation.)
That wasn't really the interesting part of our conversation, though.
We talked about our own problems with relationships, which are all remarkably similar, and sort of newly archetypal it seems. Here are the stages:
1. Boy meets girl.
2. Boy and girl fall in love.
3. Boy romances girl with lots of wildly impractical, utterly romantic statements.
4. Girl is mostly practical, but smitten.
5. Boy abruptly ends all statements; relationship.
6. Girl says a number of wildly impractical, possibly quite angry, utterly romantic statements.
7. Boy eventually declares Stage 5 moot--picks up Stage 3 again.
8. Repeat Stage 5.
(Stages 5-7 might happen a few times.)
9. What happened to boy? Who knows? He is probably in Timbuktu. Girl becomes much more practical. Girl is looking for new Boy. But girl is unsure how to alter feelings.
I don't know what "the end" is, except, I think, Girl eventually falls in love again. That's really the only way I've seen out of the story. That's what we've all agreed is the only conceivable end.
It's not a story anyone wants to play around with once they're out of it--it's a relief to end the process, and usually there's lots of horrifying stuff in the middle no one wants to remember. Any guy is done at Stage 8; there's no other way to put it. Any Stage 9 girl would prefer simply not to think about any prior stage, because the first ones are wildly sentimental and the later are painful and fatiguing.
And Stage 9 is really not so awful a stage. At that point, it's much less obsessive. It's much less painful. It's usually even hopeful. It's mostly spent waiting or looking for someone new. It's really only a problem when one dwells on the story itself.
In terms of personal experience, especially talking with people I know, this is the new love story.
It seems like what everyone has problems with is the part where Boy comes back into the picture, contradicting his Ending statements by reiterating his Beginning ones. This part is decidedly shitty, because it 1) apparently confirms Girl's suspicions that Boy was deluding himself out of feelings (for various optional reasons, but I'll stay out of subcategories), and 2) gives Girl hope when Boy repeats Stage 5, that Stage 7 is logically to follow.
Despite all rationality, it's easy to think the story will eventually end at Stage 7 instead of Stage 5.
Which is why it's hard for all of my friends to alter their feelings.
----
In my mind, this must all be about miscommunication. If Boy explained his feelings at every step in process following Stage 5, things would make more sense to Girl. I think, though, inevitably, that would either cast Boy in a bad light, or force him to hurt Girl which he doesn't want despite not wanting a relationship.
At the same time, I know this is very much colored by my experience as a Girl. I'm positive Boy has a very different idea of it.
Also, applying science to romance is difficult. You try it.
----
In other news, 2/5 applications done.
I'm afraid I'm falling too much in love with the "pink city", and the odds of getting into any program are very much against me.
Oh well. [Insert some quote about never failing only because you never try.]
Not that this is particularly unusual. Relationships are fascinating to me; they're so complicated. Especially when love is involved. Then it's supremely complicated. Because, as far as I've seen, love is one of the only things that makes a rational person act irrationally.
Other things I can think of: 1) insanity, 2) depression, 3) philosophical confusion.
U. and I had a relatively long conversation today, as we do on occasion, where we tried to Get Somewhere in our thoughts on relationships. It started because she wanted to know what I thought about historical in-love (historical story in-love, mostly) versus contemporary in-love. What, she wanted to know, did I think were the differences?
We agreed that historically it seems like maybe it was more of a crap-shoot. In-love is all about instant passion--what with all the stories about Boy Sees Girl, Boy Thinks Girl is Pretty, Boy Does Insane Things In Name of Love For Girl. This concept seems timeless, I guess, but I think it's growing more archaic. Neither of us liked this option of in-love, because 1) the be-all-end-all virtue of Girl in this scenario is visual beauty, which in reality doesn't say a whole lot except that Girl is fun to look at, which sucks for Girl and feminism is general, and 2) this is a pretty precarious situation. This story usually ends in Marriage, which is happy and probably followed by great sex. But what about when they have to buy a house? Or go see a movie? Or spend time in each other's company, in general? NIX this story. It's too pretty and too simplistic.
The interesting thing is, historically, in-love was definitely not the big deal it is now. If we're gonna get REALLY historical, you were probably matched with someone whose parents made a deal with your parents. If we're gonna get kinda historical, you usually just kinda picked someone who you might have thought was kind of cute, but who definitely had the same socioeconomic status, lived in the same village, and didn't have a deadly disease yet.
So, maybe historical in-love is so optimistic and outlandish because it wasn't expected for everybody anyway? I don't know.
Anyway, it seems like these days, romantic stories are all about the big connection. At least, the pre-courtship process (i.e. I like you, let's get to know each other, now we're friends, and I really like you, etc.) is much more important than the actual marriage at the end. Now there's almost always a break-up involved because of miscommunication, and a getting-back-together due to the fact that both (cue sappy song) are reminded of the other by something they both relate to.
Before, crisis was more about things keeping the lovers apart (families, dragons, y'know). Now, crisis is about miscommunication.
(By the way, I should just throw in that this is all semi-ignorant, unresearched speculation.)
That wasn't really the interesting part of our conversation, though.
We talked about our own problems with relationships, which are all remarkably similar, and sort of newly archetypal it seems. Here are the stages:
1. Boy meets girl.
2. Boy and girl fall in love.
3. Boy romances girl with lots of wildly impractical, utterly romantic statements.
4. Girl is mostly practical, but smitten.
5. Boy abruptly ends all statements; relationship.
6. Girl says a number of wildly impractical, possibly quite angry, utterly romantic statements.
7. Boy eventually declares Stage 5 moot--picks up Stage 3 again.
8. Repeat Stage 5.
(Stages 5-7 might happen a few times.)
9. What happened to boy? Who knows? He is probably in Timbuktu. Girl becomes much more practical. Girl is looking for new Boy. But girl is unsure how to alter feelings.
I don't know what "the end" is, except, I think, Girl eventually falls in love again. That's really the only way I've seen out of the story. That's what we've all agreed is the only conceivable end.
It's not a story anyone wants to play around with once they're out of it--it's a relief to end the process, and usually there's lots of horrifying stuff in the middle no one wants to remember. Any guy is done at Stage 8; there's no other way to put it. Any Stage 9 girl would prefer simply not to think about any prior stage, because the first ones are wildly sentimental and the later are painful and fatiguing.
And Stage 9 is really not so awful a stage. At that point, it's much less obsessive. It's much less painful. It's usually even hopeful. It's mostly spent waiting or looking for someone new. It's really only a problem when one dwells on the story itself.
In terms of personal experience, especially talking with people I know, this is the new love story.
It seems like what everyone has problems with is the part where Boy comes back into the picture, contradicting his Ending statements by reiterating his Beginning ones. This part is decidedly shitty, because it 1) apparently confirms Girl's suspicions that Boy was deluding himself out of feelings (for various optional reasons, but I'll stay out of subcategories), and 2) gives Girl hope when Boy repeats Stage 5, that Stage 7 is logically to follow.
Despite all rationality, it's easy to think the story will eventually end at Stage 7 instead of Stage 5.
Which is why it's hard for all of my friends to alter their feelings.
----
In my mind, this must all be about miscommunication. If Boy explained his feelings at every step in process following Stage 5, things would make more sense to Girl. I think, though, inevitably, that would either cast Boy in a bad light, or force him to hurt Girl which he doesn't want despite not wanting a relationship.
At the same time, I know this is very much colored by my experience as a Girl. I'm positive Boy has a very different idea of it.
Also, applying science to romance is difficult. You try it.
----
In other news, 2/5 applications done.
I'm afraid I'm falling too much in love with the "pink city", and the odds of getting into any program are very much against me.
Oh well. [Insert some quote about never failing only because you never try.]
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
o, Punjab!
I can't help it; I love this Indian music video.
My favorite characters:
1) the guy in the turban
2) the cigar-smoking bass player
3) the old white dude with the sitar (is it a sitar?)
My favorite characters:
1) the guy in the turban
2) the cigar-smoking bass player
3) the old white dude with the sitar (is it a sitar?)
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Voices escape, singing sad sad songs.
(I don't mean to beat to death the news, in a oh-so-stereotypical bloggy way, but--)
Heath Ledger hath quit the world.
Oh, Heath. I hardly knew thee.
Wait. I didn't know thee.
What I feel is not grief exactly, because that seems like a pretty immense emotion to invest in someone I didn't know. Still, there's a twinge of something. Something I don't feel when anonymous people up and die. It begs the question: what, exactly, is society's emotional attachment to a famous person?
There are categories of fame--The Leader, The Entertainer, The Intellectual, the Socialite. While an individual dying of any category will warrant those close to the person to grieve, I wonder about the community. Is it sad to me because I was attracted to him in "10 Things I Hate About You"? Or because I liked his acting? Or because he's famous?
If a leader died, someone I really looked up to--and there are a couple, I suppose--I think I would actually grieve. Because that means something for the society. Like late last year... all the images of people sobbing in the streets after Bhutto's assassination. Her death had societal implications; it was symbolic.
We are social. I remember five years ago, feeling somewhat misanthropic, actively searching for people I deemed "different" from the masses, people that "got" me. People with the same taste in music; people who wanted to go to the same places. Which makes some sense--that's the age when a number of uncomfortable things happen: 1, you realize being an adult doesn't make someone an Adult; 2, in most places, you still get treated as though you're younger than you are; 3) you start noticing the rest of the world; etc.
Now, I feel drawn to the community. I want to bond with people I can't imagine bonding with, I want to be opened to new things by others, rather than just finding people who already know what I know. It's about taking comfort in your similarities as human beings reacting to the human condition, not about taking comfort in both enjoying the same obscure indie band. To some degree, the second is a microcosm of the first. But focusing on the first, I think, will get you further.
What I mean to say is: I think the death of Heath Ledger was sad because everyone knows who Heath Ledger was. He was "shared" by society, and now society shares one thing less. He didn't lead us, but he entertained us--and our society is one bent on entertainment. I'd even say entertainment is a kind of religious thing in America.
Look at Britney Spears. She ceases to exist as a person--she's just a concept now. She's entertained us to death; it isn't even voluntary anymore. The woman has been chained down by the public. Newspapers wouldn't report her every move if people didn't consume it. And people consume it so voraciously because newspapers report it. It's a weird world.
Anyway. Speaking of liking the same song, I really like "Jesus, Etc" by Wilco. I keep listening to it. Over and over. Anybody else like that song? We could take comfort in our similarities as human beings reacting to the human condition via social critique via entertainment via alternative rock via country-folk leanings.
Heath Ledger hath quit the world.
Oh, Heath. I hardly knew thee.
Wait. I didn't know thee.
What I feel is not grief exactly, because that seems like a pretty immense emotion to invest in someone I didn't know. Still, there's a twinge of something. Something I don't feel when anonymous people up and die. It begs the question: what, exactly, is society's emotional attachment to a famous person?
There are categories of fame--The Leader, The Entertainer, The Intellectual, the Socialite. While an individual dying of any category will warrant those close to the person to grieve, I wonder about the community. Is it sad to me because I was attracted to him in "10 Things I Hate About You"? Or because I liked his acting? Or because he's famous?
If a leader died, someone I really looked up to--and there are a couple, I suppose--I think I would actually grieve. Because that means something for the society. Like late last year... all the images of people sobbing in the streets after Bhutto's assassination. Her death had societal implications; it was symbolic.
We are social. I remember five years ago, feeling somewhat misanthropic, actively searching for people I deemed "different" from the masses, people that "got" me. People with the same taste in music; people who wanted to go to the same places. Which makes some sense--that's the age when a number of uncomfortable things happen: 1, you realize being an adult doesn't make someone an Adult; 2, in most places, you still get treated as though you're younger than you are; 3) you start noticing the rest of the world; etc.
Now, I feel drawn to the community. I want to bond with people I can't imagine bonding with, I want to be opened to new things by others, rather than just finding people who already know what I know. It's about taking comfort in your similarities as human beings reacting to the human condition, not about taking comfort in both enjoying the same obscure indie band. To some degree, the second is a microcosm of the first. But focusing on the first, I think, will get you further.
What I mean to say is: I think the death of Heath Ledger was sad because everyone knows who Heath Ledger was. He was "shared" by society, and now society shares one thing less. He didn't lead us, but he entertained us--and our society is one bent on entertainment. I'd even say entertainment is a kind of religious thing in America.
Look at Britney Spears. She ceases to exist as a person--she's just a concept now. She's entertained us to death; it isn't even voluntary anymore. The woman has been chained down by the public. Newspapers wouldn't report her every move if people didn't consume it. And people consume it so voraciously because newspapers report it. It's a weird world.
Anyway. Speaking of liking the same song, I really like "Jesus, Etc" by Wilco. I keep listening to it. Over and over. Anybody else like that song? We could take comfort in our similarities as human beings reacting to the human condition via social critique via entertainment via alternative rock via country-folk leanings.
Monday, January 21, 2008
well,
I've finished my first application. Only four more to go. :|
I'm eating a gloopish attempt at a Minestrone soup I made earlier this week. I still feel sick from last night, when I consumed lots of gin, did a couple of stupid things, and then felt so unpleasant I forced myself to throw up. Which I've never done before, but it did help.
No more gin for me. I shall forego this social lubricant for a month, at least. TEA, from now on. Tea in the morning and tea at night!
Not sure why I still feel so nauseated. Although I really failed with this soup, and that's not helping.
T. just left and who knows where U. is, so it's just me here now, and that's fine... I just want to sleep.
I haven't done my laundry in over a month. Thankfully, T. wanted to get rid of a bunch of his clothes, so I picked up a couple sweaters and lots of boxers. I wore one of the sweaters today and the masculinity of it made me feel kinda like a dirty hippie, which is a pretty cozy style, in my experience. It reminds me of being 11 years old and camping, wearing the same things all the time, wearing plushy, oversized things. It's so liberating to dress how you want.
Has everyone heard of Beirut? My cousin Christel recently introduced me to the wonder of ukuleles & trumpets. I can't decide between Elephant Gun or Postcards from Italy. I think I prefer the music of the latter, but would rather watch the video of the former. I definitely have a thing for Zach Condon.. he's so disaffected-looking. I love me the alienated ones.
Yeah, I have no theme today. I feel too sick. I feel too tired. I feel too statement-of-purposed out.
I'm going to bed. In my new boxers.
I'm eating a gloopish attempt at a Minestrone soup I made earlier this week. I still feel sick from last night, when I consumed lots of gin, did a couple of stupid things, and then felt so unpleasant I forced myself to throw up. Which I've never done before, but it did help.
No more gin for me. I shall forego this social lubricant for a month, at least. TEA, from now on. Tea in the morning and tea at night!
Not sure why I still feel so nauseated. Although I really failed with this soup, and that's not helping.
T. just left and who knows where U. is, so it's just me here now, and that's fine... I just want to sleep.
I haven't done my laundry in over a month. Thankfully, T. wanted to get rid of a bunch of his clothes, so I picked up a couple sweaters and lots of boxers. I wore one of the sweaters today and the masculinity of it made me feel kinda like a dirty hippie, which is a pretty cozy style, in my experience. It reminds me of being 11 years old and camping, wearing the same things all the time, wearing plushy, oversized things. It's so liberating to dress how you want.
Has everyone heard of Beirut? My cousin Christel recently introduced me to the wonder of ukuleles & trumpets. I can't decide between Elephant Gun or Postcards from Italy. I think I prefer the music of the latter, but would rather watch the video of the former. I definitely have a thing for Zach Condon.. he's so disaffected-looking. I love me the alienated ones.
Yeah, I have no theme today. I feel too sick. I feel too tired. I feel too statement-of-purposed out.
I'm going to bed. In my new boxers.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
SOUP. and sickness.
I anticipate that much of my time over the next few days will be spent attempting not to get sick.
Last night, I was so utterly and completely wiped out that I was almost nonfunctional and ended up going to sleep at 7:30PM. And I had gotten up at a perfectly respectable hour that morning.
But I had spent some time with T. in the main room, and he was blowing his nose all over the place. When he's sick, his strategy is completely ignoring it and soldiering through. As a result... he's always sick.
But me, I have the immune system of an ox. I haven't succumbed to a thing over the past year beyond a few sneezes and a mornings' long sore throat (and an eye infection, but that can hardly be blamed on my immune system). I'm not sure exactly why this is, but I do some things right--I eat a billion tomatoes, chain-drink tea, and sleep when I need sleep. I even take vitamins once in a while.
I also wonder sometimes about the relationship between my pleasant state of health and my vegetarianism. For example, I really rarely get stomachaches anymore. I haven't had a real cold, fever, or flu in a very long time. I usually feel very good. I remember after a few weeks (or was it months?) of not eating meat, I felt--literally--lighter. Meat is so heavy on your stomach, and the alternative might tend to be less energy efficient, but I think it's more comfortable to process.
Anyway. The point is: I'm warding off sickness. I drank orange juice and I'm taking my vitamins. Try to catch me with so much as a sniffle.
Tonight I'm making minestrone soup and A. and I are watching a movie the Mormons made about the beginnings of their religion. It should be superb.
Last night, I was so utterly and completely wiped out that I was almost nonfunctional and ended up going to sleep at 7:30PM. And I had gotten up at a perfectly respectable hour that morning.
But I had spent some time with T. in the main room, and he was blowing his nose all over the place. When he's sick, his strategy is completely ignoring it and soldiering through. As a result... he's always sick.
But me, I have the immune system of an ox. I haven't succumbed to a thing over the past year beyond a few sneezes and a mornings' long sore throat (and an eye infection, but that can hardly be blamed on my immune system). I'm not sure exactly why this is, but I do some things right--I eat a billion tomatoes, chain-drink tea, and sleep when I need sleep. I even take vitamins once in a while.
I also wonder sometimes about the relationship between my pleasant state of health and my vegetarianism. For example, I really rarely get stomachaches anymore. I haven't had a real cold, fever, or flu in a very long time. I usually feel very good. I remember after a few weeks (or was it months?) of not eating meat, I felt--literally--lighter. Meat is so heavy on your stomach, and the alternative might tend to be less energy efficient, but I think it's more comfortable to process.
Anyway. The point is: I'm warding off sickness. I drank orange juice and I'm taking my vitamins. Try to catch me with so much as a sniffle.
Tonight I'm making minestrone soup and A. and I are watching a movie the Mormons made about the beginnings of their religion. It should be superb.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
adolf hitler, mostly
I had a wonderful conversation with T. tonight. We hadn't really talked in a while, so it felt nice. Also, it's been a while since I've really talk-talked to anyone, so that was really nice.
I'm in a weird space right now. I don't feel guilty about it, or think that my feelings are unwarranted--it's just what happens when the people around you make choices. It's weird to get the creeping feeling you're a supporting character in your own life, it's weird to feel less than optimistic about your romantic future, and it's especially weird to lose security in friendships. You can't rely on connections and promises and constructed trust, you just have to hope for the best, find people you can have fun with, find people you can drink tea with, and periodically check in to see who's beside you.
It's a terribly unromantic way to approach a bond with someone, but the romantic alternative has been a let-down for me. Idealism doesn't favor me.
That's life, man.
Anyway, in other news, I actually really like this quarter. I've lost last quarter's rampant self-consciousness and now I'm not only oddly vocal in my classes, but unusually motivated. I've kept up with my IS readings, even if it means staying up later and foregoing precious sleep (a notion I somehow couldn't bear in the fall). I've been weirdly accurate in class--I've managed to both illustrate my existence to my professors (fall found me mostly staring into the void, analyzing my disturbing act of staring into the void) and offer responses that please them.
I've become accepting of my pace in Hindi, realizing that perhaps being one of the few people in the class with no direct connections to India meant I was a little slower for a reason. Astonishingly, deciding to accept this has relaxed me in the class and consequently improved my attention and comprehension of the language.
I've also been feverishly attending to a bazillion applications (or like, 5), at least one of which should be my ticket to India before the year is out. The hardest part of this has been to definitively swallow my lack of feeling of entitlement and request a number of recommendations from teachers by which I somehow felt unworthy of being recommended. Stepping out of that comfort zone has made me feel somehow more confident--it's obvious that it's all related, point being that I am becoming more comfortable trusting my own strict belief in my right to be here.
I have, in the past--and I'm sure I'll continue to do, to my frustration--too readily bought into the image of things, instead of trusting the individual. That might be too vague. What I mean is: you hear a lot of talk here, of Harvard, of the World Bank, of Nobel Laureates. This is the image--not the individual. The individual is the person who was educated at Harvard and went on to write policy protecting the whole of the Great Lakes from pollution from corporations. Or the individual is the person who went to Harvard and ended up working at a public library in a small town. The University of Chicago is image. I (you, him, them, Bill Gates, Adolf [Adolf or Adolph, whichever Hitler wasn't, my Opa was] Hitler) am individual.
At least, that's how it made sense to me to articulate it at this moment.
I'm in a weird space right now. I don't feel guilty about it, or think that my feelings are unwarranted--it's just what happens when the people around you make choices. It's weird to get the creeping feeling you're a supporting character in your own life, it's weird to feel less than optimistic about your romantic future, and it's especially weird to lose security in friendships. You can't rely on connections and promises and constructed trust, you just have to hope for the best, find people you can have fun with, find people you can drink tea with, and periodically check in to see who's beside you.
It's a terribly unromantic way to approach a bond with someone, but the romantic alternative has been a let-down for me. Idealism doesn't favor me.
That's life, man.
Anyway, in other news, I actually really like this quarter. I've lost last quarter's rampant self-consciousness and now I'm not only oddly vocal in my classes, but unusually motivated. I've kept up with my IS readings, even if it means staying up later and foregoing precious sleep (a notion I somehow couldn't bear in the fall). I've been weirdly accurate in class--I've managed to both illustrate my existence to my professors (fall found me mostly staring into the void, analyzing my disturbing act of staring into the void) and offer responses that please them.
I've become accepting of my pace in Hindi, realizing that perhaps being one of the few people in the class with no direct connections to India meant I was a little slower for a reason. Astonishingly, deciding to accept this has relaxed me in the class and consequently improved my attention and comprehension of the language.
I've also been feverishly attending to a bazillion applications (or like, 5), at least one of which should be my ticket to India before the year is out. The hardest part of this has been to definitively swallow my lack of feeling of entitlement and request a number of recommendations from teachers by which I somehow felt unworthy of being recommended. Stepping out of that comfort zone has made me feel somehow more confident--it's obvious that it's all related, point being that I am becoming more comfortable trusting my own strict belief in my right to be here.
I have, in the past--and I'm sure I'll continue to do, to my frustration--too readily bought into the image of things, instead of trusting the individual. That might be too vague. What I mean is: you hear a lot of talk here, of Harvard, of the World Bank, of Nobel Laureates. This is the image--not the individual. The individual is the person who was educated at Harvard and went on to write policy protecting the whole of the Great Lakes from pollution from corporations. Or the individual is the person who went to Harvard and ended up working at a public library in a small town. The University of Chicago is image. I (you, him, them, Bill Gates, Adolf [Adolf or Adolph, whichever Hitler wasn't, my Opa was] Hitler) am individual.
At least, that's how it made sense to me to articulate it at this moment.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
holy crap.
I'm sitting on the living room floor printing stuff out for my Environment and Religion class, and I casually looked out the window,
and into the face of a girl at her laptop, not more than 15 feet away, sitting by her window in the apartment next door. It startled the hell outta me.
Sometimes it can be creepy, this cramped apartment life.
and into the face of a girl at her laptop, not more than 15 feet away, sitting by her window in the apartment next door. It startled the hell outta me.
Sometimes it can be creepy, this cramped apartment life.
Monday, January 14, 2008
I hope someone finds it there.
My roommates are both somewhere else, in the company of someone with whom they have a close, affectionate relationship. I did my homework. I brushed my teeth. I changed clothes and tried to think of a reason to continue being awake... because going to bed alone in my apartment on nights like this is pretty horrible.
There's a song I like by Deb Talan called "Vincent", about Van Gogh. I've been listening to it on repeat. It makes me feel an affinity with Van Gogh. I googled some of his art and remembered how much I like it. Last year I had a "Starry Night over the Rhone" poster hanging beside my bed, but it got damaged in the move to the apartment.
I hate the fact that my walls are still so bare. My goal for this week is to get back to that poster store downtown across from the Art Institute, and get myself a new Van Gogh poster.
There's a song I like by Deb Talan called "Vincent", about Van Gogh. I've been listening to it on repeat. It makes me feel an affinity with Van Gogh. I googled some of his art and remembered how much I like it. Last year I had a "Starry Night over the Rhone" poster hanging beside my bed, but it got damaged in the move to the apartment.
I hate the fact that my walls are still so bare. My goal for this week is to get back to that poster store downtown across from the Art Institute, and get myself a new Van Gogh poster.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
I'm wearing pink.
I'm still tired.
Classes start tomorrow! Yoga, Human Heredity, Hindi, Religion & Environment, and Contemporary Global Issues (Part 2). I went to the bookstore today and my books for the latter two classes look interesting and enriching and etc.
I've decided, by way of not thinking about it directly until it came to me, that I really do want to enter my future by way of Environmental Studies. I was so frustrated with my own existential crises that, for the most part, I put aside my great Anthropology vs. Environment decision for a later time. But then I realized that I think about the environment constantly. It really became obvious once we touched down in Phoenix, walked outside, and the first thing I noticed after the cacti was the grotesque quantity of SUV's.
I just need to stop thinking of my future as a black hole, and start thinking of it as a fantastic opportunity ready to be engineered by my creative and masterful hands. New Year's Resolution #1?
Another resolution I've made is to stop being so fearful of public, and to find myself a more comfortable person there. I'm not sure if I seem fearful, but I am. Of Hindi. Of magnetic people. Of looking a certain way. As a result of this I seem, all too often, serious as all hell. And, eh. I don't feel like it. I resolve to learn public comfort.
I want to sleep, terribly.
Classes start tomorrow! Yoga, Human Heredity, Hindi, Religion & Environment, and Contemporary Global Issues (Part 2). I went to the bookstore today and my books for the latter two classes look interesting and enriching and etc.
I've decided, by way of not thinking about it directly until it came to me, that I really do want to enter my future by way of Environmental Studies. I was so frustrated with my own existential crises that, for the most part, I put aside my great Anthropology vs. Environment decision for a later time. But then I realized that I think about the environment constantly. It really became obvious once we touched down in Phoenix, walked outside, and the first thing I noticed after the cacti was the grotesque quantity of SUV's.
I just need to stop thinking of my future as a black hole, and start thinking of it as a fantastic opportunity ready to be engineered by my creative and masterful hands. New Year's Resolution #1?
Another resolution I've made is to stop being so fearful of public, and to find myself a more comfortable person there. I'm not sure if I seem fearful, but I am. Of Hindi. Of magnetic people. Of looking a certain way. As a result of this I seem, all too often, serious as all hell. And, eh. I don't feel like it. I resolve to learn public comfort.
I want to sleep, terribly.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
chi town is my town
I am SO tired. Too tired to write much of anything, even though I haven't written in a week. And even though, while I haven't being writing, I've been thinking a lot about many things I want to write about, like (such as..the Iraq):
I'll get to it. I'm still adjusting to my time zone, which has changed 3 times in the past 2 days.
- Religion, and my relationship to it
- What it means to be "classy"
- My relationship to my mom's side of the family vs. my relationship to my dad's
- Vegetarianism
- Resolutions
- Stuff I read in a Chuck Klosterman book I bought
- Chicago
I'll get to it. I'm still adjusting to my time zone, which has changed 3 times in the past 2 days.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
There are cacti outside my window.
I like the American southwest. It's so... red. You don't get much of that color in the Midwest.
Also, it's downright rapturous being outside of Michigan.
For now, I am sitting in the lobby waiting for my mother to feel better and my cousins to wake up and eat breakfast, at which point we will converge and surely good things will happen. Like seeing lizards.
The flights were pretty nice--I'm always terrified of flying, thinking morbid thoughts ("If the plane goes down, what will be my last words? This will be my date of death. Should I call all my friends?") until I'm actually in the air. The worst part (also the best) for me is the take-off, and the way that occasionally during the ascent, it feels like you're slowing down, like you're going to fall. After that I'm fine.
I didn't get a window seat on either flight (we switched planes in Minneapolis), but I did get to lean over and see the Grand Canyon from the air. Which I recommend doing, if you ever fly over Arizona.
The first thing I noticed when I got here is how cold it really is. It wasn't even 50 degrees! Next week it's supposed to be warmer, though.
ALSO: People of Arizona, you are single-handedly causing global warming! Please, stop buying SUV's. I know your terrain is a bit rocky, but honestly, how often are you really speeding through the desert soil, leaving clouds of red dust and rugged Bob Segar songs in your wake? Probably not as often as you think. For shame.
People here are friendly, though. Like Pete ("like 'pet' with an E! 'Peter' without the R!"), and the staff person outside, who was telling my mom all about his untimely divorce yesterday while we were waiting for my aunt to pick us up, and I was deep in a Chuck Klosterman book.
My like my aunt. She has an excellent accent (Australian), gave me chai tea to drink, and wants to take me to Trader Joe's. I met my younger three cousins yesterday (4, 7, 11). I like them, even though kids and I don't usually mix well--these ones are sweet. They say "mummy" and call my mother "Auntie Anne", pronouncing it "ahntie". The youngest, Sophia, kills me. While we were eating dinner, she left the table and came back with floss, whereupon she proceeded to floss her teeth.
My mom and her brother intermittently floated into conversation in German, for whatever reason, which was strange, but not as annoying as when I'm in Germany and no one speaks English at all.
I suppose I should study now, or do something similarly productive.
Also, it's downright rapturous being outside of Michigan.
For now, I am sitting in the lobby waiting for my mother to feel better and my cousins to wake up and eat breakfast, at which point we will converge and surely good things will happen. Like seeing lizards.
The flights were pretty nice--I'm always terrified of flying, thinking morbid thoughts ("If the plane goes down, what will be my last words? This will be my date of death. Should I call all my friends?") until I'm actually in the air. The worst part (also the best) for me is the take-off, and the way that occasionally during the ascent, it feels like you're slowing down, like you're going to fall. After that I'm fine.
I didn't get a window seat on either flight (we switched planes in Minneapolis), but I did get to lean over and see the Grand Canyon from the air. Which I recommend doing, if you ever fly over Arizona.
The first thing I noticed when I got here is how cold it really is. It wasn't even 50 degrees! Next week it's supposed to be warmer, though.
ALSO: People of Arizona, you are single-handedly causing global warming! Please, stop buying SUV's. I know your terrain is a bit rocky, but honestly, how often are you really speeding through the desert soil, leaving clouds of red dust and rugged Bob Segar songs in your wake? Probably not as often as you think. For shame.
People here are friendly, though. Like Pete ("like 'pet' with an E! 'Peter' without the R!"), and the staff person outside, who was telling my mom all about his untimely divorce yesterday while we were waiting for my aunt to pick us up, and I was deep in a Chuck Klosterman book.
My like my aunt. She has an excellent accent (Australian), gave me chai tea to drink, and wants to take me to Trader Joe's. I met my younger three cousins yesterday (4, 7, 11). I like them, even though kids and I don't usually mix well--these ones are sweet. They say "mummy" and call my mother "Auntie Anne", pronouncing it "ahntie". The youngest, Sophia, kills me. While we were eating dinner, she left the table and came back with floss, whereupon she proceeded to floss her teeth.
My mom and her brother intermittently floated into conversation in German, for whatever reason, which was strange, but not as annoying as when I'm in Germany and no one speaks English at all.
I suppose I should study now, or do something similarly productive.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
tomorrow, there be sun.
Oh man.
If you're ever going through your dresser drawers in your parents' home, because you haven't looked in them in more than a year and hey, your style might've changed, and you come across a shoe box full of old notes, it might not be best to sit down and read them.
I had about 20574684367 "crushes" before 9th grade. Which meant, I think, that I desperately wanted to fall in love and since it hadn't happened yet, it was liable to happen with just about anyone.
Also, I was completely insipid until about 11th grade (maybe 10th grade, if I'm being really nice). That may seem like a harsh self-criticism, but my complacent ignorance of everything but my own life... it's really boring. But maybe that's just 8th grade for you. I guess I have a more romantic notion of what constitutes a 14-year-old--like changing beliefs & their associated crises. But I guess that isn't something you tell another 14-year-old girl, at least not in this time period. A note is generally more "OH MY GOD I saw Billy walking out the door after practice and he sort of half-waved IS HE IN LOVE WITH ME?"
OK. I guess that's still the case. Only now it's more "You know that guy with the eyes and the hair in my bio class I told you about? Well, we discussed global warming before class today and then he recycled his water bottle. It was amazing."
AND, you do discuss changing beliefs & their associated crises with your friends... the crises you thought you'd have at 14.
...apparently at some point Convictions became more romantic to me than Romance. Last night I had a bad love-related dream and woke up feeling crappy. Poor me, blah blah, loneliness, blah. Then I turned on the news and learned how a couple Pakistani terrorists had killed Benazir Bhutto, and along with her hope for actual women's rights and an actual election. I remembered our Hindi TA, an expert on Pakistani issues, spending a whole session just talking to us about the state of that country. And I watched the already unstable nation give way to absolute chaos. And saw footage of people crying in the streets. And it all seemed a lot more sad and real to me than my bad dream.
Anyway, tomorrow I leave for Fonix. I am a little nervy, as I always am about airplanes. :/ I repeat the favorable statistics like mantras.
I'm bringing my laptop, so I'll write from the land of the Saguaro Cactus.
If you're ever going through your dresser drawers in your parents' home, because you haven't looked in them in more than a year and hey, your style might've changed, and you come across a shoe box full of old notes, it might not be best to sit down and read them.
I had about 20574684367 "crushes" before 9th grade. Which meant, I think, that I desperately wanted to fall in love and since it hadn't happened yet, it was liable to happen with just about anyone.
Also, I was completely insipid until about 11th grade (maybe 10th grade, if I'm being really nice). That may seem like a harsh self-criticism, but my complacent ignorance of everything but my own life... it's really boring. But maybe that's just 8th grade for you. I guess I have a more romantic notion of what constitutes a 14-year-old--like changing beliefs & their associated crises. But I guess that isn't something you tell another 14-year-old girl, at least not in this time period. A note is generally more "OH MY GOD I saw Billy walking out the door after practice and he sort of half-waved IS HE IN LOVE WITH ME?"
OK. I guess that's still the case. Only now it's more "You know that guy with the eyes and the hair in my bio class I told you about? Well, we discussed global warming before class today and then he recycled his water bottle. It was amazing."
AND, you do discuss changing beliefs & their associated crises with your friends... the crises you thought you'd have at 14.
...apparently at some point Convictions became more romantic to me than Romance. Last night I had a bad love-related dream and woke up feeling crappy. Poor me, blah blah, loneliness, blah. Then I turned on the news and learned how a couple Pakistani terrorists had killed Benazir Bhutto, and along with her hope for actual women's rights and an actual election. I remembered our Hindi TA, an expert on Pakistani issues, spending a whole session just talking to us about the state of that country. And I watched the already unstable nation give way to absolute chaos. And saw footage of people crying in the streets. And it all seemed a lot more sad and real to me than my bad dream.
Anyway, tomorrow I leave for Fonix. I am a little nervy, as I always am about airplanes. :/ I repeat the favorable statistics like mantras.
I'm bringing my laptop, so I'll write from the land of the Saguaro Cactus.
Monday, December 24, 2007
debilitating december.
The past week has been a headache.
Literally. I have had a headache every day for almost a week now. I think it's more like one long headache that intermittently strengthens and weakens. And it's of the tension variety--I know this because it feels like a band around my head. Also because a couple years ago, after having frequent headaches, I had half-convinced myself I had a brain tumor, and went so far as to go to the hospital and get a CT Scan. Just tension, as it turns out.
Normally I don't get them more than once or twice a month and it's fine, but I'm really getting tired of it now.
Maybe it's the switching from book to screen to book to different screen to book again. Or the switching from contacts to glasses to contacts to glasses. Or my diet of half celery, half sugar. Or my new sleeping schedule. Or my longing for my friends. Or the constant gray of my surroundings.
But hey! Friday I'm going to a place where there's sun and modest, spring-like temperatures, and I will spend less time looking at screens and more time meeting my family. And just a week after that, back in my city with tall buildings and public transportation and a healthy acceptance of and respect for tofu--it always comes back to my need for the Chicago.
I feel like I should say something about Christmas, but I'm just really not that excited about it. We already opened our gifts, and I'm not much of a Christian. And even if I was, Jesus was born in April or something.
...you try being cheerful with a vise on your head.
Literally. I have had a headache every day for almost a week now. I think it's more like one long headache that intermittently strengthens and weakens. And it's of the tension variety--I know this because it feels like a band around my head. Also because a couple years ago, after having frequent headaches, I had half-convinced myself I had a brain tumor, and went so far as to go to the hospital and get a CT Scan. Just tension, as it turns out.
Normally I don't get them more than once or twice a month and it's fine, but I'm really getting tired of it now.
Maybe it's the switching from book to screen to book to different screen to book again. Or the switching from contacts to glasses to contacts to glasses. Or my diet of half celery, half sugar. Or my new sleeping schedule. Or my longing for my friends. Or the constant gray of my surroundings.
But hey! Friday I'm going to a place where there's sun and modest, spring-like temperatures, and I will spend less time looking at screens and more time meeting my family. And just a week after that, back in my city with tall buildings and public transportation and a healthy acceptance of and respect for tofu--it always comes back to my need for the Chicago.
I feel like I should say something about Christmas, but I'm just really not that excited about it. We already opened our gifts, and I'm not much of a Christian. And even if I was, Jesus was born in April or something.
...you try being cheerful with a vise on your head.
snow & specters
It's snowed so much that it's hard to distinguish the street outside.
Mmmmmnnn, a specter is haunting me tonight, one borne of fictional representations floating close to my nonfictional realities. I hate the television, and the feel-good movies from the late '90s that Christmastime spurs.
When when when will I be over the metaphorical hump? I feel like I sat down to rest near the top of a mountain, got frozen, and now I occasionally thaw long enough to trip on a branch and roll back down to the bottom. When I get near the top again, I sit on the same log and refreeze. And it's the bad side of the mountain. The one that gets all the rain; the windward side. That's another thing--all that wind.
That's officially the weirdest metaphor of the year, but it feels pretty accurate. It might make sense to the people that know me.
And now I have to know that I wrote about it. I blow too much thought on this crap.
I hope it snows so much the street IS indistinguishable. And people are stuck at home with their canned vegetables and each other. And the power goes out. And they light candles and talk.
Mmmmmnnn, a specter is haunting me tonight, one borne of fictional representations floating close to my nonfictional realities. I hate the television, and the feel-good movies from the late '90s that Christmastime spurs.
When when when will I be over the metaphorical hump? I feel like I sat down to rest near the top of a mountain, got frozen, and now I occasionally thaw long enough to trip on a branch and roll back down to the bottom. When I get near the top again, I sit on the same log and refreeze. And it's the bad side of the mountain. The one that gets all the rain; the windward side. That's another thing--all that wind.
That's officially the weirdest metaphor of the year, but it feels pretty accurate. It might make sense to the people that know me.
And now I have to know that I wrote about it. I blow too much thought on this crap.
I hope it snows so much the street IS indistinguishable. And people are stuck at home with their canned vegetables and each other. And the power goes out. And they light candles and talk.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Just a nice reason for a November swim!
This morning, I found a handy link on the NYTimes website, providing each candidate's opinion on global warming and what should be done about it. I will be voting for a Democrat, so here's (briefly) what I think of their stances--
Unimpressive: Joe Biden, Mike Gravel
Decent: Hillary Clinton, Chris Dodd, John Edwards, Barack Obama
Impressive: Dennis Kucinich, Bill Richardson
But that's just my opinion. I put a lot of weight on their actions in Congress, and, specifically, whether or not they voted for increased standards for gas emissions, since that's where they tended to diverge. Also, Kucinich & Richardson actually provided somewhat specific plans for improving the environmental situation--much more compelling.
The site is worth checking out.
I also came across an article about a tropical disease outbreak in Italy--a result of warming temperatures bringing disease-bearing mosquitoes north.
Just so you know, here are the Republican candidates still shooting the shit about there being no "scientific consensus" on global warming (i.e., global what?):
Really, people, it's time to face the facts: global warming can be largely blamed on the immigrants running across the border and immediately falling into extravagant, ridiculously unsustainable lifestyles. Because that makes sense.
Also, it's OK if Americans live like that to begin with. Because we're American...
I'm thisclose to becoming Swedish.
Unimpressive: Joe Biden, Mike Gravel
Decent: Hillary Clinton, Chris Dodd, John Edwards, Barack Obama
Impressive: Dennis Kucinich, Bill Richardson
But that's just my opinion. I put a lot of weight on their actions in Congress, and, specifically, whether or not they voted for increased standards for gas emissions, since that's where they tended to diverge. Also, Kucinich & Richardson actually provided somewhat specific plans for improving the environmental situation--much more compelling.
The site is worth checking out.
I also came across an article about a tropical disease outbreak in Italy--a result of warming temperatures bringing disease-bearing mosquitoes north.
Just so you know, here are the Republican candidates still shooting the shit about there being no "scientific consensus" on global warming (i.e., global what?):
- Duncan Hunter
- His Highness Ron Paul
- Fred Thompson
Really, people, it's time to face the facts: global warming can be largely blamed on the immigrants running across the border and immediately falling into extravagant, ridiculously unsustainable lifestyles. Because that makes sense.
Also, it's OK if Americans live like that to begin with. Because we're American...
I'm thisclose to becoming Swedish.
claire's so-called life.
I gave my mom her Christmas present today--Season One of Arrested Development. She wants to laugh, she always talks about needing to laugh, so I figured that would work. Fortunately, it did. We watched something like 8 episodes of the show, and it got me thinking about how well-produced it is, how likable it is, how great the characterization is.
I spend a fair amount of time imagining a television show, roughly based on my life & circumstances. I feel like this is something everyone does, but I think I have that out-of-body perspective almost constantly.
Maybe it's because I write things on here, and while it isn't as though I get a million hits a day, I'm still fashioning my experiences and thoughts to be read by other people. Think of yourself as a writer, or a potential writer, with even an ounce of seriousness, and you've got a state of mind that's incredibly hard to shake. It's more of a pain than a benefit, I think. I frequently get lost in a conversation because I float away and watch the conversation. I sometimes have a terrible time speaking fluently because I stop thinking of my topic and start thinking of myself speaking. The self-consciousness is overwhelming sometimes.
That said, the hyper-observance has me forming my life into stories, my friends into characters (even my friends' lives into stories), everything manipulated to fit into a box, to place into a text. Conversations float immediately into words on a page, or re-spoken in a re-enactment.
It used to drive me crazy that no character you read resonates true like a real person, because in order to "characterize" someone, you package the person to be predictable. I don't think many real people are as predictable as characters necessarily are.
In creating a story, I think my ultimate goal would be to make it feel as close to reality as I can.
...I'm sort of digressing.
The point is, I've given a lot of thought to this show. The story of three college students at an intense university in the city, with a cheap apartment and widely varying backgrounds and families. I would manipulate us and sharpen us a lot, of course, for characters. T's character would be transfixed with language-learning (and maybe linguistics) and sort of all over the place with integrating different cultures into his life. He would be worldly. And also one of the few characters on TV who would be gay without it being the main purpose for his role (refreshing!) U. would be the econ major with a heart, confusingly enmeshed in a world of soulless I-bankers. (You would definitely be Sri Lankan, U., because I feel like there could be a running joke of people not knowing where that is.) My character would be a disheartened environmentalist with a lot of opposition and strange ideas. (Don't think I see myself as nearly as cool [or proactive] as the character would be.) I can see a lot of the supporting roles, too.
I think it would be cool to have environmentalism be the main attribute for the character I'd create because it'd put that focus right out in front of people. There've been enough doctors. I want to see a show with social justice as a main character's focus. I think that'd be seriously awesome. And I don't like using that term, so I don't use it lightly.
Also, I don't think there are a lot of shows with college settings. I saw one episode of Gilmore Girls last year, but I don't think that counts, really. And I also don't mean stupid, California college like the O.C. (if that ever got that far.) I mean nerdy, serious college. With ironic and funny jokes. Have there been any of these?
I've also decided that the opening credits to the show would go along with one of two songs:
1) Strange Apparition, by Beck, or
2) On the Table, by A.C. Newman
Maybe slightly edited to fit correctly. In my head I can picture it.
It'd be fun to try writing for my nonexistent series.
...in other news, I seem to have reverted to nocturnal functioning here in Michigan. And my brother is talking in his sleep.
I spend a fair amount of time imagining a television show, roughly based on my life & circumstances. I feel like this is something everyone does, but I think I have that out-of-body perspective almost constantly.
Maybe it's because I write things on here, and while it isn't as though I get a million hits a day, I'm still fashioning my experiences and thoughts to be read by other people. Think of yourself as a writer, or a potential writer, with even an ounce of seriousness, and you've got a state of mind that's incredibly hard to shake. It's more of a pain than a benefit, I think. I frequently get lost in a conversation because I float away and watch the conversation. I sometimes have a terrible time speaking fluently because I stop thinking of my topic and start thinking of myself speaking. The self-consciousness is overwhelming sometimes.
That said, the hyper-observance has me forming my life into stories, my friends into characters (even my friends' lives into stories), everything manipulated to fit into a box, to place into a text. Conversations float immediately into words on a page, or re-spoken in a re-enactment.
It used to drive me crazy that no character you read resonates true like a real person, because in order to "characterize" someone, you package the person to be predictable. I don't think many real people are as predictable as characters necessarily are.
In creating a story, I think my ultimate goal would be to make it feel as close to reality as I can.
...I'm sort of digressing.
The point is, I've given a lot of thought to this show. The story of three college students at an intense university in the city, with a cheap apartment and widely varying backgrounds and families. I would manipulate us and sharpen us a lot, of course, for characters. T's character would be transfixed with language-learning (and maybe linguistics) and sort of all over the place with integrating different cultures into his life. He would be worldly. And also one of the few characters on TV who would be gay without it being the main purpose for his role (refreshing!) U. would be the econ major with a heart, confusingly enmeshed in a world of soulless I-bankers. (You would definitely be Sri Lankan, U., because I feel like there could be a running joke of people not knowing where that is.) My character would be a disheartened environmentalist with a lot of opposition and strange ideas. (Don't think I see myself as nearly as cool [or proactive] as the character would be.) I can see a lot of the supporting roles, too.
I think it would be cool to have environmentalism be the main attribute for the character I'd create because it'd put that focus right out in front of people. There've been enough doctors. I want to see a show with social justice as a main character's focus. I think that'd be seriously awesome. And I don't like using that term, so I don't use it lightly.
Also, I don't think there are a lot of shows with college settings. I saw one episode of Gilmore Girls last year, but I don't think that counts, really. And I also don't mean stupid, California college like the O.C. (if that ever got that far.) I mean nerdy, serious college. With ironic and funny jokes. Have there been any of these?
I've also decided that the opening credits to the show would go along with one of two songs:
1) Strange Apparition, by Beck, or
2) On the Table, by A.C. Newman
Maybe slightly edited to fit correctly. In my head I can picture it.
It'd be fun to try writing for my nonexistent series.
...in other news, I seem to have reverted to nocturnal functioning here in Michigan. And my brother is talking in his sleep.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
EPA suckage, Woody Allen ownage
One of the wisest things my roomies and I decided to do when we moved into an apartment was to declare it a television-free space. We have lots of nice things in our living room--a bookshelf, painted walls, a hookah--but one thing we do not have is a TV. The practical aspect of this is that it would be one more temptation in our already distracted lives, but the more important aspect is that the gray box is a drain on intellectual and visual aesthetics.
Being home, however, has accustomed me to the ugly gray box once again. The first day I could only watch about half an hour, and I think it was the news. Gradually I drifted to the National Geographic Channel and HBO, but now that my mind has been officially recolonized by the maggots that produce the crap that gets shown, I'm ashamed to say that it no longer turns my stomach to flip through channels.
If I sound so pretentious it's turning your stomach, just ask yourself: with your mental capabilities and potential, with all you don't know about, say, the nation of Uzbekistan (and I, for one, know nothing about it), with all there is to learn about exotic Indonesian fish, or the benefits of Vitamin B-12, or the guy you never talk to in physics..
...do you really want to spend your time watching 4 brainless plasticky pretty people fight over some other brainless plasticky pretty person? With 10 minutes of advertisements in between?
This is what I've learned from my past few days of painful, rapt television-watching:
1) Almost every show now is a competition to become a model;
2) FOX News has become somehow even more conspicuously reactionary, and yet they're still promoting that "fair and balanced" bull;
3) About half the commercials on TV operate on a self-ironic basis--make your audience laugh at you, and they'll think you're cute and buy the product;
4) HBO has the same movie playing on at least three channels at one time;
5) Politics is about 95% entertainment to the American public;
6) I prefer slow and painful torture to the sound of a laugh track.
You know, what really creeps me out is that people just sort of... go along with how stupid it all is. If they fed us a show of a group of people competing to date a wall, we'd watch it. If they fed us a show of a guy bashing his head against a wall for half an hour, we'd watch it. If they fed us a show of the daily trials and tribulations even faced by a wall, we'd watch it.
WHY?
In happier news, I got Annie Hall from Netflix today, making just slightly more of a dent in my Woody Allen filmography self-education. I loved it. I watched it twice; first by myself, then with Kristin at my mother's apartment (after an attempt at tofu soup that called for about 5 times too many split peas, such that it became split pea stew with other vegetables and tofu in it).
I think Woody Allen might be my favorite director. Everyone, I feel, should have a favorite director--and I've adored all of his movies so far.
Here's what I've seen:
--Annie Hall
--Manhattan Murder Mystery
--Match Point
--Small Time Crooks
--Take the Money and Run
..OK, so it's a small fraction of what he's put out. But I'm getting there. Next in my queue is Scoop, and though it hasn't gotten the best reviews, I love Scarlett Johansson.
Also, Woody Allen's birthday is December 1, which means he joins Noam Chomsky on my list of very cool people that redeem December birthdays.
(In other news, the EPA sucks and is full of crooks, cronies, and just general shitheads. Or maybe just a few people that encompass all three important political qualities.)
Being home, however, has accustomed me to the ugly gray box once again. The first day I could only watch about half an hour, and I think it was the news. Gradually I drifted to the National Geographic Channel and HBO, but now that my mind has been officially recolonized by the maggots that produce the crap that gets shown, I'm ashamed to say that it no longer turns my stomach to flip through channels.
If I sound so pretentious it's turning your stomach, just ask yourself: with your mental capabilities and potential, with all you don't know about, say, the nation of Uzbekistan (and I, for one, know nothing about it), with all there is to learn about exotic Indonesian fish, or the benefits of Vitamin B-12, or the guy you never talk to in physics..
...do you really want to spend your time watching 4 brainless plasticky pretty people fight over some other brainless plasticky pretty person? With 10 minutes of advertisements in between?
This is what I've learned from my past few days of painful, rapt television-watching:
1) Almost every show now is a competition to become a model;
2) FOX News has become somehow even more conspicuously reactionary, and yet they're still promoting that "fair and balanced" bull;
3) About half the commercials on TV operate on a self-ironic basis--make your audience laugh at you, and they'll think you're cute and buy the product;
4) HBO has the same movie playing on at least three channels at one time;
5) Politics is about 95% entertainment to the American public;
6) I prefer slow and painful torture to the sound of a laugh track.
You know, what really creeps me out is that people just sort of... go along with how stupid it all is. If they fed us a show of a group of people competing to date a wall, we'd watch it. If they fed us a show of a guy bashing his head against a wall for half an hour, we'd watch it. If they fed us a show of the daily trials and tribulations even faced by a wall, we'd watch it.
WHY?
In happier news, I got Annie Hall from Netflix today, making just slightly more of a dent in my Woody Allen filmography self-education. I loved it. I watched it twice; first by myself, then with Kristin at my mother's apartment (after an attempt at tofu soup that called for about 5 times too many split peas, such that it became split pea stew with other vegetables and tofu in it).
I think Woody Allen might be my favorite director. Everyone, I feel, should have a favorite director--and I've adored all of his movies so far.
Here's what I've seen:
--Annie Hall
--Manhattan Murder Mystery
--Match Point
--Small Time Crooks
--Take the Money and Run
..OK, so it's a small fraction of what he's put out. But I'm getting there. Next in my queue is Scoop, and though it hasn't gotten the best reviews, I love Scarlett Johansson.
Also, Woody Allen's birthday is December 1, which means he joins Noam Chomsky on my list of very cool people that redeem December birthdays.
(In other news, the EPA sucks and is full of crooks, cronies, and just general shitheads. Or maybe just a few people that encompass all three important political qualities.)
-------
Last note: Today is December 19, which means I've fulfilled my goal of writing every day for a month. I think I might keep trying to write daily, though, because a) It gives me a tangible goal, b) I like it, and c) I don't have any other sort of journal to record my thoughts/misexperiences.
What existence do I have if I'm not documenting? At least for the indefinite-feeling time that I'm here, in the cold rurals of many-churched, mini-vanned boringland--near non-existence.
What existence do I have if I'm not documenting? At least for the indefinite-feeling time that I'm here, in the cold rurals of many-churched, mini-vanned boringland--near non-existence.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
woo.
I'm in one of those moods, the sort of mood where you feel like you'd say exactly what you wish you could say if you were in the kind of situation involuntarily controlled by the emotions. I hope that made sense--it was poorly written.
Unfortunately I'm:
a) here
b) now
So maybe I'll just go to bed.
Unfortunately I'm:
a) here
b) now
So maybe I'll just go to bed.
Monday, December 17, 2007
carpets.
Here's something to think about: the smell and look of a carpet store.
It makes me feel bad. Poignantly bad, in a way I wish I knew exactly how to explain.
Does that make sense to anyone?
It makes me feel bad. Poignantly bad, in a way I wish I knew exactly how to explain.
Does that make sense to anyone?
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Turn and face the strange.
I think one of the strangest things for me to face as I've gotten older... is how severe change can be.
When I was younger, and I used to envision myself a little bit older, I would always imagine the changes that would take place. At 10, imagining 16--at 16, imagining 20. And I've always been not just wrong on the surface, but deeply wrong on a fundamental level. For example, I might have seen the 16-year-old me dating somebody, experiencing romance for the first time, and starting to figure out what I want to do. Really, the 16-year-old me had experienced romance but not quite in the Suzie High School way I had expected, and the fallout from it had left me beginning to question my values, my beliefs, myself.
At 16 imagining 20, I saw myself filling with knowledge, coming home more complete, content to see myself here on the breaks because I had something to show for myself. Now, I can see that gaining more knowledge has had the impact of not just fulfilling me, but altering how I see the world, especially my old world, in an extraordinary way. I have a very difficult time relating to my parents. They scoff at my entertaining radical ideas about the environment and politics the same way I'm further and further distanced by their consumption and stagnancy. I end up feeling depressed and tongue-tied, and they feel lectured-at.
And yet I'm at conflict with myself, because they're the ones paying for this education that so baffles them. I would hate to leave my school, to settle for something less challenging. But what about my perspective? Is it right to use their money, when I don't know what I'm going to do with myself, when I want to be able to proudly and respectably defend my ideals? I know the debts will all be landing in my lap in a couple of years, but my consumption of their money, and then inwardly and sometimes outwardly critiquing their spending habits and lifestyles--it's not really fair, is it?
And here I thought I'd be worrying about literary analysis and finishing a paper at this age. I've changed monumentally.
I have more to say, but I'll save it for later.
When I was younger, and I used to envision myself a little bit older, I would always imagine the changes that would take place. At 10, imagining 16--at 16, imagining 20. And I've always been not just wrong on the surface, but deeply wrong on a fundamental level. For example, I might have seen the 16-year-old me dating somebody, experiencing romance for the first time, and starting to figure out what I want to do. Really, the 16-year-old me had experienced romance but not quite in the Suzie High School way I had expected, and the fallout from it had left me beginning to question my values, my beliefs, myself.
At 16 imagining 20, I saw myself filling with knowledge, coming home more complete, content to see myself here on the breaks because I had something to show for myself. Now, I can see that gaining more knowledge has had the impact of not just fulfilling me, but altering how I see the world, especially my old world, in an extraordinary way. I have a very difficult time relating to my parents. They scoff at my entertaining radical ideas about the environment and politics the same way I'm further and further distanced by their consumption and stagnancy. I end up feeling depressed and tongue-tied, and they feel lectured-at.
And yet I'm at conflict with myself, because they're the ones paying for this education that so baffles them. I would hate to leave my school, to settle for something less challenging. But what about my perspective? Is it right to use their money, when I don't know what I'm going to do with myself, when I want to be able to proudly and respectably defend my ideals? I know the debts will all be landing in my lap in a couple of years, but my consumption of their money, and then inwardly and sometimes outwardly critiquing their spending habits and lifestyles--it's not really fair, is it?
And here I thought I'd be worrying about literary analysis and finishing a paper at this age. I've changed monumentally.
I have more to say, but I'll save it for later.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
brain transplant
My room is bedless, and my floor is littered with boxes filled with my mom's things. I've been sleeping on an air mattress (the same one I slept on for about two months last summer), next to a pile of too much bedding.
I feel very transplanted on this trip home.
My mom is in an apartment not far from here (even more in the middle of nowhere, somehow), and this house feels huge with just my Dad and me. With my stuff all gone or moved or overtaken by my parents, I can see how my parents are living without me. And with me, it's not much different.
I think I upset my mom. I've been very irritable lately, and she's been sensitive to it. "I just wish you were happier to be home," she said. But, though I love my parents (however little I understand them), it doesn't feel like home.
I've written about it but haven't really been able to convey how being home in Hastings makes me feel versus being home in Chicago. There is something so... so insidiously small about this small town.
I tend to be very sensitive to my environment. When I was in Germany, the language barrier left me feeling terribly lonely. When I was in Boulder, with the flatirons and cyclists all around, I felt reinvigorated. Even when I went to the Schaumburg IKEA, outside of Chicago, all the sprawling, flat chain stores on the way left me feeling slightly dead inside.
The feeling this place gives me, however, is unique; I lived here for 18 years, after all. What I notice, what makes me feel a deep kind of despair, is just how static this town is. The same people will be eating at the same restaurant; the same man will be walking the same dog around the same block; the same cashier checks me out at the same store. Maybe it all sounds comforting--the constance, the reliability--and I guess it all was up until the age of 12. But in truth, once I began to stretch beyond just wanting annual rituals, it started to starkly show how stifled and meaningless things are here. I'm so powerfully influenced by it that I start going into old habits; watching TV, getting too lazy to clean anything up.
I've grown accustomed to my life in Chicago. The people I hear walking and laughing below my apartment window at 1AM. Our neighbors' parties, which, due to our face-to-face living room windows, we can not only hear but watch, if we want. Foreign food (not to mention vegetarian food), foreign people, foreign language--all not far from our front door. Environmental awareness. Public transportation. Sirens. Bookstores everywhere; students reading Marx and Durkheim in coffee shops. That's comfort. I love the dynamics and busy feel of the city; I was meant to live there.
In Chicago, I feel like I can write substantial things, like I can make my way to other countries somehow, like life-changing things and people are within my reach. Here, I feel cut off from everything and even start wanting to question my capabilities. Here, I wonder how a person who leaves this town can decide to come back to it. I feel like I would do anything, anything, not to live here again.
I have a terrible headache and long for tea, but at this point it's too far away...
I feel very transplanted on this trip home.
My mom is in an apartment not far from here (even more in the middle of nowhere, somehow), and this house feels huge with just my Dad and me. With my stuff all gone or moved or overtaken by my parents, I can see how my parents are living without me. And with me, it's not much different.
I think I upset my mom. I've been very irritable lately, and she's been sensitive to it. "I just wish you were happier to be home," she said. But, though I love my parents (however little I understand them), it doesn't feel like home.
I've written about it but haven't really been able to convey how being home in Hastings makes me feel versus being home in Chicago. There is something so... so insidiously small about this small town.
I tend to be very sensitive to my environment. When I was in Germany, the language barrier left me feeling terribly lonely. When I was in Boulder, with the flatirons and cyclists all around, I felt reinvigorated. Even when I went to the Schaumburg IKEA, outside of Chicago, all the sprawling, flat chain stores on the way left me feeling slightly dead inside.
The feeling this place gives me, however, is unique; I lived here for 18 years, after all. What I notice, what makes me feel a deep kind of despair, is just how static this town is. The same people will be eating at the same restaurant; the same man will be walking the same dog around the same block; the same cashier checks me out at the same store. Maybe it all sounds comforting--the constance, the reliability--and I guess it all was up until the age of 12. But in truth, once I began to stretch beyond just wanting annual rituals, it started to starkly show how stifled and meaningless things are here. I'm so powerfully influenced by it that I start going into old habits; watching TV, getting too lazy to clean anything up.
I've grown accustomed to my life in Chicago. The people I hear walking and laughing below my apartment window at 1AM. Our neighbors' parties, which, due to our face-to-face living room windows, we can not only hear but watch, if we want. Foreign food (not to mention vegetarian food), foreign people, foreign language--all not far from our front door. Environmental awareness. Public transportation. Sirens. Bookstores everywhere; students reading Marx and Durkheim in coffee shops. That's comfort. I love the dynamics and busy feel of the city; I was meant to live there.
In Chicago, I feel like I can write substantial things, like I can make my way to other countries somehow, like life-changing things and people are within my reach. Here, I feel cut off from everything and even start wanting to question my capabilities. Here, I wonder how a person who leaves this town can decide to come back to it. I feel like I would do anything, anything, not to live here again.
I have a terrible headache and long for tea, but at this point it's too far away...
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