I haven't posted in a very long time because I have been tremendously busy with school. Still am, in fact, and I won't be finished with all my schoolwork until I literally graduate in about a month. I cannot believe it's just around the corner. I still feel like a junior since I'd spent my third year with second-year British kids in England.
In general I am overwhelmed, also, with finding a job since the graduate school thing didn't work out. Oh, thanks, but it's OK. I've gotten over it. I'd wanted to actually post about the rush of feelings I had once I learned the news about three weeks ago, but I never got around to it. I've resolved to apply to different kinds of programs--programs--to start in fall 2009. In the meantime, I hope to do something worthwhile, something I am interested in, something that will make my application so much more appealing. I just don't know what that something is.
Anyway, I am really looking forward to graduation because it will mean that I have finished my thesis (it fascinates me but it is oh-so-tedious), completed all the other work I need to do for my two other classes, and it will mean I can relax. I've thought about this some, and I wanted to give a list of fun, leisurely things I want to do, starting as soon as I graduate. Because you know I hate to be idle.
Now, what I need to do:
1.) Go to NYC for a few days with Stephanie. Have fun. Take pictures.
2.) Read books you've wanted to read for a long time. This includes finishing The Story of French. Start with that and then move on to reading more of those transgender studies books. Also, read some art books so you can participate in lively discussions with Dad. Start with The Private Lives of the Impressionists, the book that instigated his quest to learn more about art.
3.) Use your intermediate-to-advanced French workbook to refresh. One of your lifetime goals is to be as fluent as possible in a language. Start here.
4.) Go to the movies! Determine whether or not you want to keep your Netflix account. You don't go through your queue very quickly, and you probably won't even once you finish school because hopefully you will find a job to occupy your time. You could just rent from the library for cheap.
5.) Blog! And create a separate blog that is only about movies. This way, you can show this to people for writing samples of your work about film.
6.) Edit your thesis and turn it into a book with self-publishing software.
7.) Try to meet people. You need friends, man.
I hope I haven't put too much pressure on myself.
Showing posts with label me myself i. Show all posts
Showing posts with label me myself i. Show all posts
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
a change about me
I'm thinking I should change the description of myself that lies just over to the right. I've been home from England for eight months. I'm not exactly experiencing counter shock anymore, but I am feeling more and more nostalgia for the life I led in Lancaster. Mainly the independence I reveled in. All those times I went to the movies by myself. I miss that kind of mobility. The enormous amounts of free time that generally bored me. I now see them as liberating. And the good, cheap food.
Anyway, I don't know what else to say about myself. "The musings, observations, and adventures of a cultural critic" is already taken. I'm not sure, so I am soliciting suggestions. Keep an eye out.
Anyway, I don't know what else to say about myself. "The musings, observations, and adventures of a cultural critic" is already taken. I'm not sure, so I am soliciting suggestions. Keep an eye out.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
if you can hear me, you're listening
On Monday, I spent five hours in my local public library. I needed to get out of the house for the sake of my sanity. My happiness even. As you probably already know, the work round the house has been very time- and energy-consuming. I think it's about time it stopped. Others seem to disagree. That's one of the many reasons I had to get out of the house and find something more personally constructive to do.
Funny thing is, I worked at one of those cubicle desks. I mean, I've never been a fan of those. I always thought I would feel really claustrophobic, essentially boxed in on three sides. But I wasn't. And it was incredibly quiet in that room. So many people came and went but hardly made a peep. I only noticed them if they slipped into my peripheral vision.
I started the hours in the library by writing in my film journal about five films. Then I started looking over stuff about grad school. In the end, I did a lot of preliminary brainstorming for grad school applications, even with the help of the very basic chapters on grad school in my GRE review book. One bit of advice in that book inspired me to really think about "the accomplishments that best demonstrate [my] abilities."
Obviously, I wrote about being selected for the university exchange program and subsequently studying abroad at Lancaster University. But then I wandered onto thinking about something else I have done: host a radio program. I never reflected so much on that experience as I did on Monday, and quite articulately and eloquently, I must say. Now I'm just embarrassed. And I probably won't be able to use any of it.
In my stream-of-consciousness notes, I admitted that it was an unconventional accomplishment to demonstrate my abilities, but it allowed me to express myself in a new way--almost anonymously, with no idea of what impact it made on the days or lives of other people, with unfamiliar technology. More than this though, I recognized in hindsight just how the radio show represents the site where many of my interests converged: music, film, personal vs. collective history/memory, place. Not to mention, "I see [the show] as an extension of me that I put out into the world, and I'm so glad I did put myself out there--in at least one way."
At the top of the page, I wrote that these words that flew out of my mind and splattered on the paper constituted "the most surprising--and perhaps most useless--thing I did today." I wouldn't call it useless now. After all, it helped me see that often boring and tedious experience from my life in a new light.
Funny thing is, I worked at one of those cubicle desks. I mean, I've never been a fan of those. I always thought I would feel really claustrophobic, essentially boxed in on three sides. But I wasn't. And it was incredibly quiet in that room. So many people came and went but hardly made a peep. I only noticed them if they slipped into my peripheral vision.
I started the hours in the library by writing in my film journal about five films. Then I started looking over stuff about grad school. In the end, I did a lot of preliminary brainstorming for grad school applications, even with the help of the very basic chapters on grad school in my GRE review book. One bit of advice in that book inspired me to really think about "the accomplishments that best demonstrate [my] abilities."
Obviously, I wrote about being selected for the university exchange program and subsequently studying abroad at Lancaster University. But then I wandered onto thinking about something else I have done: host a radio program. I never reflected so much on that experience as I did on Monday, and quite articulately and eloquently, I must say. Now I'm just embarrassed. And I probably won't be able to use any of it.
In my stream-of-consciousness notes, I admitted that it was an unconventional accomplishment to demonstrate my abilities, but it allowed me to express myself in a new way--almost anonymously, with no idea of what impact it made on the days or lives of other people, with unfamiliar technology. More than this though, I recognized in hindsight just how the radio show represents the site where many of my interests converged: music, film, personal vs. collective history/memory, place. Not to mention, "I see [the show] as an extension of me that I put out into the world, and I'm so glad I did put myself out there--in at least one way."
At the top of the page, I wrote that these words that flew out of my mind and splattered on the paper constituted "the most surprising--and perhaps most useless--thing I did today." I wouldn't call it useless now. After all, it helped me see that often boring and tedious experience from my life in a new light.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
as corny as it sounds
I wish someone would say to me, "We belong together. Like traffic and weather." Like traffic and weather.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
if i were a number, what number would i be?
Stephanie took the Enneagram test by OkCupid, so I thought, why not I? This test, which Stephanie found was spot on when it called her an EIGHT (aka "The Asserter"), proves that we are not exactly the same. I'm most of what this says a FOUR is. But I don't know why we're called romantics. I'm not romantic. Just because I like Jane Austen doesn't make me romantic, does it? By the way, I comment on my results in italics.
My score on The Quick & Painless ENNEAGRAM Test: 4 - the Individualist
My Enneagram type is FOUR (aka "The Romantic")
"I am unique"
Romantics have sensitive feelings and are warm and perceptive.
How to Get Along with Me
* Give me plenty of compliments. They mean a lot to me. Only when I deserve them, please. And yes, they do mean a lot to me. So much so that I won't forget even the littlest one.
* Be a supportive friend or partner. Help me to learn to love and value myself. Please.
* Respect me for my special gifts of intuition and vision. I guess this could refer to my hyper-observance?
* Though I don't always want to be cheered up when I'm feeling melancholy, I sometimes like to have someone lighten me up a little. True dat. I much rather laugh than cry, I think. I mean, I cry a lot. Whether it's because of a movie or just because I'm thinking about sad things.
* Don't tell me I'm too sensitive or that I'm overreacting! Why? Because I already know this.
What I Like About Being a FOUR
* My ability to find meaning in life and to experience feeling at a deep level. Uh, I haven't found the meaning of life. 42 didn't work out.
* My ability to establish warm connections with people. There's only a few.
* Admiring what is noble, truthful, and beautiful in life. I dunno if I do that.
* My creativity, intuition, and sense of humor. I don't consider myself creative or intuitive. I don't think I am funny, but I get things.
* Being unique and being seen as unique by others. I have to admit, this is pretty important to me.
* Having aesthetic sensibilities. I do like the aesthetics of things. I do.
* Being able to easily pick up the feelings of people around me. I'm not very intuitive, but I think I can tell when someone's feeling happy or shitty. Or uncomfortable.
What's Hard About Being a FOUR
* Experiencing dark moods of emptiness and despair. This is the worst of it all.
* Feelings of self-hatred and shame; believing I don't deserve to be loved. Or maybe this is the worst.
* Feeling guilty when I disappoint people. I do, yeah.
* Feeling hurt or attacked when someone misunderstands me. No. It's the other way round. I feel misunderstood when someone hurts or attacks me.
* Expecting too much from myself and life. I think this is how people close to me see me.
* Fearing being abandoned. Yeah, but I don't freak out too much when it happens. I get over it. Eventually. I'm used to it by now. But I still hate it when it happens.
* Obsessing over resentments. I obsess over everything.
* Longing for what I don't have. Not materialistically. And not spiritually. I just want to be happy.
FOURs as Children Often
* Have active imaginations: play creatively alone or organize playmates in original games. This is a tricky one. I don't think I had a particularly active imagination as a kid. Except I did and still do pretend my life is a movie. This, however, did remind me that I invented a stupid game based round a large circle with numbers 1-30 in it painted on the asphalt at my elementary school's playground. There was nothing we could do with it, so I invented a game. That almost no one played with me.
* Are very sensitive. True dat.
* Feel that they don't fit in. Uh-huh. Still feel this way. Probably always will.
* Believe they are missing something that other people have. I'm not a particularly jealous person.
* Attach themselves to idealized teachers, heroes, artists, etc. I don't hero worship.
* Become antiauthoritarian or rebellious when criticized or not understood. I dunno.
* Feel lonely or abandoned (perhaps as a result of a death or their parents' divorce). Yeah.
FOURs as Parents (If and when I become a parent...)
* Help their children become who they really are. Definitely.
* Support their children's creativity and originality. Absolutely.
* Are good at helping their children get in touch with their feelings. Always.
* Are sometimes overly critical or overly protective. Probably.
* Are usually very good with children if not too self-absorbed. Jury's still out.
From:
Renee Baron & Elizabeth Wagele
The Enneagram Made Easy
Discover the 9 Types of People
Harper
San Francisco, 1994, 161 pages
My score on The Quick & Painless ENNEAGRAM Test: 4 - the Individualist
My Enneagram type is FOUR (aka "The Romantic")
"I am unique"
Romantics have sensitive feelings and are warm and perceptive.
How to Get Along with Me
* Give me plenty of compliments. They mean a lot to me. Only when I deserve them, please. And yes, they do mean a lot to me. So much so that I won't forget even the littlest one.
* Be a supportive friend or partner. Help me to learn to love and value myself. Please.
* Respect me for my special gifts of intuition and vision. I guess this could refer to my hyper-observance?
* Though I don't always want to be cheered up when I'm feeling melancholy, I sometimes like to have someone lighten me up a little. True dat. I much rather laugh than cry, I think. I mean, I cry a lot. Whether it's because of a movie or just because I'm thinking about sad things.
* Don't tell me I'm too sensitive or that I'm overreacting! Why? Because I already know this.
What I Like About Being a FOUR
* My ability to find meaning in life and to experience feeling at a deep level. Uh, I haven't found the meaning of life. 42 didn't work out.
* My ability to establish warm connections with people. There's only a few.
* Admiring what is noble, truthful, and beautiful in life. I dunno if I do that.
* My creativity, intuition, and sense of humor. I don't consider myself creative or intuitive. I don't think I am funny, but I get things.
* Being unique and being seen as unique by others. I have to admit, this is pretty important to me.
* Having aesthetic sensibilities. I do like the aesthetics of things. I do.
* Being able to easily pick up the feelings of people around me. I'm not very intuitive, but I think I can tell when someone's feeling happy or shitty. Or uncomfortable.
What's Hard About Being a FOUR
* Experiencing dark moods of emptiness and despair. This is the worst of it all.
* Feelings of self-hatred and shame; believing I don't deserve to be loved. Or maybe this is the worst.
* Feeling guilty when I disappoint people. I do, yeah.
* Feeling hurt or attacked when someone misunderstands me. No. It's the other way round. I feel misunderstood when someone hurts or attacks me.
* Expecting too much from myself and life. I think this is how people close to me see me.
* Fearing being abandoned. Yeah, but I don't freak out too much when it happens. I get over it. Eventually. I'm used to it by now. But I still hate it when it happens.
* Obsessing over resentments. I obsess over everything.
* Longing for what I don't have. Not materialistically. And not spiritually. I just want to be happy.
FOURs as Children Often
* Have active imaginations: play creatively alone or organize playmates in original games. This is a tricky one. I don't think I had a particularly active imagination as a kid. Except I did and still do pretend my life is a movie. This, however, did remind me that I invented a stupid game based round a large circle with numbers 1-30 in it painted on the asphalt at my elementary school's playground. There was nothing we could do with it, so I invented a game. That almost no one played with me.
* Are very sensitive. True dat.
* Feel that they don't fit in. Uh-huh. Still feel this way. Probably always will.
* Believe they are missing something that other people have. I'm not a particularly jealous person.
* Attach themselves to idealized teachers, heroes, artists, etc. I don't hero worship.
* Become antiauthoritarian or rebellious when criticized or not understood. I dunno.
* Feel lonely or abandoned (perhaps as a result of a death or their parents' divorce). Yeah.
FOURs as Parents (If and when I become a parent...)
* Help their children become who they really are. Definitely.
* Support their children's creativity and originality. Absolutely.
* Are good at helping their children get in touch with their feelings. Always.
* Are sometimes overly critical or overly protective. Probably.
* Are usually very good with children if not too self-absorbed. Jury's still out.
From:
Renee Baron & Elizabeth Wagele
The Enneagram Made Easy
Discover the 9 Types of People
Harper
San Francisco, 1994, 161 pages
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
oh what a night
There's a funny story as to why I didn't blog yesterday. The day got off to a pretty slow start because Stephanie and I went to the Hirshhorn Museum and got lost trying to find our way there from the wrong exit at the metro station. We allotted a lot of time to explore there, do some shopping, and eat dinner before going to the advance screening of La Vie en rose (2007).
But my stiff neck (from lugging so much shit on Friday and Saturday) was so painful that we ended up taking it very slowly. We didn't shop. Instead we sat in the Museum's sculpture garden and dozed a bit. My neck hurt so much, but it only got worse right before the movie started.
I'm not going to get into all the details about how much my shoulders, neck, and head hurt. Let me just say that when my father picked Stephanie and me up from the metro station, they insisted on taking me to the emergency room. To make a long story short, we ruled out meningitis pretty quickly. Muscles in my shoulders were spasming, causing the pain to shoot up my neck and into my head. They hooked me up to an IV and sent an anti-inflammatory medicine and some Valium into my bloodstream before giving me a cat scan.
I really didn't want to go to the emergency room. For two reasons: 1.) George Clooney wouldn't be there and 2.) the last time I was in that exact emergency room was the night before my mother died. In any case, I am glad I went. I feel SO much better. I am no longer in pain. I can't remember much of what I said or did last night because of the Valium, but I know I was goofy and a bit delirious.
When I finally got out of the bed (took the nurses forever to come back and discharge me), I felt dizzy. Like I was going to throw up. Went to the bathroom to do it, but couldn't all of the sudden. When I got home, however, I puked. That's the second time I have ever vomited in my life.
Memories, memories.
Hey, maybe we'll finally get to Fallingwater tomorrow.
But my stiff neck (from lugging so much shit on Friday and Saturday) was so painful that we ended up taking it very slowly. We didn't shop. Instead we sat in the Museum's sculpture garden and dozed a bit. My neck hurt so much, but it only got worse right before the movie started.
I'm not going to get into all the details about how much my shoulders, neck, and head hurt. Let me just say that when my father picked Stephanie and me up from the metro station, they insisted on taking me to the emergency room. To make a long story short, we ruled out meningitis pretty quickly. Muscles in my shoulders were spasming, causing the pain to shoot up my neck and into my head. They hooked me up to an IV and sent an anti-inflammatory medicine and some Valium into my bloodstream before giving me a cat scan.
I really didn't want to go to the emergency room. For two reasons: 1.) George Clooney wouldn't be there and 2.) the last time I was in that exact emergency room was the night before my mother died. In any case, I am glad I went. I feel SO much better. I am no longer in pain. I can't remember much of what I said or did last night because of the Valium, but I know I was goofy and a bit delirious.
When I finally got out of the bed (took the nurses forever to come back and discharge me), I felt dizzy. Like I was going to throw up. Went to the bathroom to do it, but couldn't all of the sudden. When I got home, however, I puked. That's the second time I have ever vomited in my life.
Memories, memories.
Hey, maybe we'll finally get to Fallingwater tomorrow.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Friday, June 8, 2007
the beginning of the end (of the beginning)
It's been the longest day. I've gotten a lot accomplished. I've sweat a lot. I've flexed my muscles throughout the day (realized I have them after all). I feel like I am on fire.
I'm exhausted, but I feel the need to write a little something because this is my last night in the UK. I've looked forward to this moment for so long, but now I don't want to go. I admit it's partly because I am tired right now and that I am afraid of Heathrow. But let's face it: I've gotten used to life here. Yes, I know I can adjust back to my life at home, but I wonder if it will be the same as before I left. I don't want it to be because that means that I really have learned nothing, done nothing.
If this experience living abroad has taught me anything about myself, it's that I'm never happy in any place and that I need to move around, see new things (almost constantly). I realize this seems really stupid. It supposes I will never find a place that will make me happy, make me want to stay, though I will act as if I am looking for "that place." I guess I just need to not expect so much.
I'm exhausted, but I feel the need to write a little something because this is my last night in the UK. I've looked forward to this moment for so long, but now I don't want to go. I admit it's partly because I am tired right now and that I am afraid of Heathrow. But let's face it: I've gotten used to life here. Yes, I know I can adjust back to my life at home, but I wonder if it will be the same as before I left. I don't want it to be because that means that I really have learned nothing, done nothing.
If this experience living abroad has taught me anything about myself, it's that I'm never happy in any place and that I need to move around, see new things (almost constantly). I realize this seems really stupid. It supposes I will never find a place that will make me happy, make me want to stay, though I will act as if I am looking for "that place." I guess I just need to not expect so much.
Friday, June 1, 2007
the dark side
I feel as if a vampire has bitten me. No, that doesn't make sense. Vampires come from fantasy land (and not the one at Disney World). For this reason, we don't actually know what it would feel like if a vampire bit us on the neck. I'm sure people bite each other there all the time, but do they have fangs? And if they do, then it's probably some sort of gothic S&M thing. But that is neither here nor there.
So let me explain what I mean by "I feel as if a vampire has bitten me." For the past couple of weeks, my face has experienced having some pretty nice skin. The pimples have been fading away because I finally put Neosporin on them. (God, just talking about my skin has never been this easy.) But a few days ago, two giant mounds appeared near my jawline on the right side of my face, about a quarter of an inch apart. I know what you're thinking, if they are the markings of a vampire bite, then that vampire has got a small mouth.
It's because the dots are perfectly parallel to each other that I thought of a vampire bite. It really is as if one with a small mouth punctured my skin. But I don't feel woozy. I don't feel like drinking someone else's blood, and I'm pretty sure that if I walk over to my mirror, I will see myself. I just feel angry that these have come to haunt me now, just when everything was getting to be so good.
So let me explain what I mean by "I feel as if a vampire has bitten me." For the past couple of weeks, my face has experienced having some pretty nice skin. The pimples have been fading away because I finally put Neosporin on them. (God, just talking about my skin has never been this easy.) But a few days ago, two giant mounds appeared near my jawline on the right side of my face, about a quarter of an inch apart. I know what you're thinking, if they are the markings of a vampire bite, then that vampire has got a small mouth.
It's because the dots are perfectly parallel to each other that I thought of a vampire bite. It really is as if one with a small mouth punctured my skin. But I don't feel woozy. I don't feel like drinking someone else's blood, and I'm pretty sure that if I walk over to my mirror, I will see myself. I just feel angry that these have come to haunt me now, just when everything was getting to be so good.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
archivists are going to have a field day with me
I'm a diarist. I have been for years, and as the years rage on I have become a much more detail-oriented documentarian. I think my diary as it stands now evolved from the free agenda books I would get at the start of every year in middle school. In them, I would only remind myself of daily homework assignments and the dates of any upcoming assessments. When I reached high school, I added more snippets of my daily routine. Gradually, I have added what I eat, what I wear, and more generally what I do or should be doing. With either the exact times that I do them or estimates marked with "ish" or "?" so that I know years from now it was just a guess.
This is how big a collectionist I am. I do it because I don't want to forget anything. Must admit, for example, that I started writing down what I wear so that I don't wear the same things two days in a row. I know. How could I forget what I wore the day before? You would be surprised. But that is neither here nor there.
But today, just when I thought it couldn't be packed with more info, I thought of a new thing to add: some code for categorizing my overall feeling about the day. Smiley face for "good, happy." Frowning face for "bad, unhappy." A face with a straight line for a mouth for neither good nor bad, just "shrug." Since many things influence my mood, the criteria that I evaluate before marking each day now with a smile or a frown run the gamut of possible factors. I consider everything, such as my productivity, attitude towards others, level of diversion (aka how much fun I had), intellectual stimulation, etc. You know, everything a day entails.
This is how big a collectionist I am. I do it because I don't want to forget anything. Must admit, for example, that I started writing down what I wear so that I don't wear the same things two days in a row. I know. How could I forget what I wore the day before? You would be surprised. But that is neither here nor there.
But today, just when I thought it couldn't be packed with more info, I thought of a new thing to add: some code for categorizing my overall feeling about the day. Smiley face for "good, happy." Frowning face for "bad, unhappy." A face with a straight line for a mouth for neither good nor bad, just "shrug." Since many things influence my mood, the criteria that I evaluate before marking each day now with a smile or a frown run the gamut of possible factors. I consider everything, such as my productivity, attitude towards others, level of diversion (aka how much fun I had), intellectual stimulation, etc. You know, everything a day entails.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
i'll wear my earphones from hair on out
I fuckin' hate those headphones in the media resource centre of my department. They've messed up my hair beyond repair (unless I wash it again today). But wait, I am getting ahead of myself. [Pun intended.]
Today, in preparation for my French film exam that will take place Saturday morning at half past nine of the clock in the morning, I watched Lacombe Lucien (1974) AND Les Quatre cents coups (1959) aka The 400 Blows. I like The 400 Blows. I think it's poignant and sometimes pretty funny, but Lacombe Lucien has to be one of the most boring films I have ever seen. It takes way too much time to tell the story of a somewhat dim-witted country boy who almost inadvertently joins the French collaborators of the German Occupation during WWII. He enjoys the authority he has by being a member of the German police and uses it to take advantage of a Jewish tailor and his pretty daughter. There isn't a score, so every scene moves by so slowly. And there's very little talking, and when they do talk, it's--you guessed it--very slowly. Ah, but this is neither here nor there.
Getting back to my original argument: the headphones have made an impression on my hair. My hair is generally fuzzy and a bit fluffy (it ain't a fro, though, at least not yet), but there is a strip from ear to ear that is depressed. No matter how much I try to fluff out my hair, other parts continue to stick up but this strip does not budge. I look like I have a double-bumped camel on my head.
Shaving my head solved so many problems I had with my hair. It wasn't until I shaved it that I started to forgive bed head's unruly behavior, but this is just ridiculous.
Today, in preparation for my French film exam that will take place Saturday morning at half past nine of the clock in the morning, I watched Lacombe Lucien (1974) AND Les Quatre cents coups (1959) aka The 400 Blows. I like The 400 Blows. I think it's poignant and sometimes pretty funny, but Lacombe Lucien has to be one of the most boring films I have ever seen. It takes way too much time to tell the story of a somewhat dim-witted country boy who almost inadvertently joins the French collaborators of the German Occupation during WWII. He enjoys the authority he has by being a member of the German police and uses it to take advantage of a Jewish tailor and his pretty daughter. There isn't a score, so every scene moves by so slowly. And there's very little talking, and when they do talk, it's--you guessed it--very slowly. Ah, but this is neither here nor there.
Getting back to my original argument: the headphones have made an impression on my hair. My hair is generally fuzzy and a bit fluffy (it ain't a fro, though, at least not yet), but there is a strip from ear to ear that is depressed. No matter how much I try to fluff out my hair, other parts continue to stick up but this strip does not budge. I look like I have a double-bumped camel on my head.
Shaving my head solved so many problems I had with my hair. It wasn't until I shaved it that I started to forgive bed head's unruly behavior, but this is just ridiculous.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
there's no time. gotta dash, baby
Hey, pray for me. Well, I doubt that will work, so just give me a wake-up call so that I don't oversleep for my exam tomorrow morning at 9.30. Tomorrow, I need to be up and ready to write two essays in two hours at the time that I usually wake up these days. On second thought, the timezone difference will be too difficult to get round, so just pray for me instead.
Thanks. Much appreciated.
Thanks. Much appreciated.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
you look like you could be my friend
I keep forgetting to mention this. I have a profile on MySpace, but I never log in. Well, almost never. A couple of weeks ago I checked in to see what was going on. It only takes two seconds because not much does happen between the months I log in. Anyway, I am getting to the point.
A couple of weeks ago, when I logged in I saw that I had about four or five friend requests from what we would call "pretty girls." Oh, I'm going to stereotype now and it's not fair: they definitely looked like they belonged in sororities. They probably party a lot and are the kind of girls that my brother would find, shall we say rather nicely, "attractive."
Usually, friend requests come from really bad bands. Not individuals. I didn't understand why these girls would look at my profile and think that we have something in common. That we should be friends. And then I looked at my photo.
My photo is of me with my former hairstyle, the A-line. Taken on the day I had it done because that was the only time that it was bone straight and sleek. I think I might also be wearing a v-neck shirt that accentuates my breasts. Just as one of the hairdressers said when I had it styled, I look like I'm ready for the club. This must be why the girls want to be my friend.
Funny, even girls get the wrong idea.
A couple of weeks ago, when I logged in I saw that I had about four or five friend requests from what we would call "pretty girls." Oh, I'm going to stereotype now and it's not fair: they definitely looked like they belonged in sororities. They probably party a lot and are the kind of girls that my brother would find, shall we say rather nicely, "attractive."
Usually, friend requests come from really bad bands. Not individuals. I didn't understand why these girls would look at my profile and think that we have something in common. That we should be friends. And then I looked at my photo.
My photo is of me with my former hairstyle, the A-line. Taken on the day I had it done because that was the only time that it was bone straight and sleek. I think I might also be wearing a v-neck shirt that accentuates my breasts. Just as one of the hairdressers said when I had it styled, I look like I'm ready for the club. This must be why the girls want to be my friend.
Funny, even girls get the wrong idea.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
tell me honestly
Do I look like Harry Potter? Apparently, one of my neighbors thinks I do. When I looked at him like "I don't get why you're telling me this," he pointed out to someone else how he should just not talk anymore because everything he says sounds offensive to whomever he's trying to "compliment." I assured him that he didn't offend me. But how do I look like Harry Potter? Seriously. C'mon.
Friday, April 13, 2007
this is an autograph by me
Now this is embarrassing, but I am going to tell you about it anyway because I've been thinking about it. I recently rewatched The Terminal (2004). I still have many problems with it, but I found it moving again. In any case, the end credits feature everyone's signature. It's good because if you should write in to the Tom Hanks or Diego Luna fanclubs, asking for an autograph, you'd be able to tell if it was real by comparing it against these signatures at the end.
As for the point of this post? I'm getting there.
Watching the signatures get filled out, I was reminded of how I really don't like my own. So I reverted back to seventh-grade behavior and started signing my name all over pieces of scrap paper, attempting to find a newer, cooler way of making my mark.
The best one I came up with--and it's unfortunate I can't duplicate it here--featured the "L" and "X" of my name reaching down together, at different angles, very nearly meeting each other. And the "C." that is my middle initial floated as some sort of quarter moon above each of my names. The last name didn't change much.
As for the point of this post? I'm getting there.
Watching the signatures get filled out, I was reminded of how I really don't like my own. So I reverted back to seventh-grade behavior and started signing my name all over pieces of scrap paper, attempting to find a newer, cooler way of making my mark.
The best one I came up with--and it's unfortunate I can't duplicate it here--featured the "L" and "X" of my name reaching down together, at different angles, very nearly meeting each other. And the "C." that is my middle initial floated as some sort of quarter moon above each of my names. The last name didn't change much.
it's all gone, gone, gone, baby
I shaved my head today. You know how much I hate my hair. Recently, it had gotten to the point where I couldn't stand to look at it in the mirror anymore. I'd go to sleep hating it and I wouldn't be able to think about anything else.
It's longer now than I have usually had it shaved in the past. F8 instead of F4. It's cute. I'm very happy with it. I went to three places before someone agreed to shave my head. First, it was a barber shop. If I were a man she would have done it for £5. I guess it's against the law; if they have a business that caters specifically to men, then they cannot work on women. The next one said she wouldn't have time to do it today, all while her receptionist, who was quite dumb really, was looking for a name and price list for what I was asking and suggesting I do something else. The last place, which is where I got it done (and funnily enough it was a Hair Cuttery, which is called HC UK here and I only noticed this after I got my receipt), originally said £20. ("It may take 2 minutes, but it's the length." Um, no.) I bitched and scritched, so I got it for £10, which was the most I was willing to pay.
Sorry to have bored you with this, but it is always interesting to me to see how people--especially women--react to my decision. Denise said she was "impressed" and that she could never do it. A hairdresser called me "brave." I told her, "I've done it before. And it's the best haircut." You don't have to worry about it anymore. No more frizz, wind, blow-drying, etc. Will admit that sometimes there is bed hair. Sometimes some parts will stick up and will be hard to flatten out, to pad down.
A few days ago, when I sent an email to my father and Stephanie about how I was thinking of doing this, even going so far as to transcribe my pro/con list from my journal, my father replied back, saying that such a superficial change couldn't change my attitude, the way I feel about myself. I agree to a degree, but I do believe that a change of clothes or hairstyle can make you feel good about yourself, which in turn changes your attitude toward others. I smiled a lot more today, and I suspect it will continue.
It's longer now than I have usually had it shaved in the past. F8 instead of F4. It's cute. I'm very happy with it. I went to three places before someone agreed to shave my head. First, it was a barber shop. If I were a man she would have done it for £5. I guess it's against the law; if they have a business that caters specifically to men, then they cannot work on women. The next one said she wouldn't have time to do it today, all while her receptionist, who was quite dumb really, was looking for a name and price list for what I was asking and suggesting I do something else. The last place, which is where I got it done (and funnily enough it was a Hair Cuttery, which is called HC UK here and I only noticed this after I got my receipt), originally said £20. ("It may take 2 minutes, but it's the length." Um, no.) I bitched and scritched, so I got it for £10, which was the most I was willing to pay.
Sorry to have bored you with this, but it is always interesting to me to see how people--especially women--react to my decision. Denise said she was "impressed" and that she could never do it. A hairdresser called me "brave." I told her, "I've done it before. And it's the best haircut." You don't have to worry about it anymore. No more frizz, wind, blow-drying, etc. Will admit that sometimes there is bed hair. Sometimes some parts will stick up and will be hard to flatten out, to pad down.
A few days ago, when I sent an email to my father and Stephanie about how I was thinking of doing this, even going so far as to transcribe my pro/con list from my journal, my father replied back, saying that such a superficial change couldn't change my attitude, the way I feel about myself. I agree to a degree, but I do believe that a change of clothes or hairstyle can make you feel good about yourself, which in turn changes your attitude toward others. I smiled a lot more today, and I suspect it will continue.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
when does it get better?
I'm so frustrated and confused. I just wanna turn my mind off. And then turn it back on. Maybe things will make sense then. Reset. Start over.
Monday, March 26, 2007
climate change of plans
I'm such a pussy.
I didn't go to Dukes to see Climates (2006), the Turkish movie I've read a lot about in Sight & Sound. I was planning on seeing it no matter how far I got into writing my essay on the French New Wave cinema being a discourse with Hollywood. What ended up happening was that I got VERY far into writing the essay and chickened out. I didn't want to suddenly stop and then shift gears to get ready. Plus I am afraid the buses to and from town don't run very often during the holiday break and that I might end up stranded in town and have to pay for a taxi back. This cannot be the case, surely. You've even checked the timetables online, I tell myself. No matter. Climates will be on DVD by the time I get home anyway, I bet.
On a happier note: the essay's all written. It just needs a conclusion and to be edited and edited and edited some more.
I didn't go to Dukes to see Climates (2006), the Turkish movie I've read a lot about in Sight & Sound. I was planning on seeing it no matter how far I got into writing my essay on the French New Wave cinema being a discourse with Hollywood. What ended up happening was that I got VERY far into writing the essay and chickened out. I didn't want to suddenly stop and then shift gears to get ready. Plus I am afraid the buses to and from town don't run very often during the holiday break and that I might end up stranded in town and have to pay for a taxi back. This cannot be the case, surely. You've even checked the timetables online, I tell myself. No matter. Climates will be on DVD by the time I get home anyway, I bet.
On a happier note: the essay's all written. It just needs a conclusion and to be edited and edited and edited some more.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
getting in touch with my american side
The fascination with my Americanness continued after being asked to fill out those cross-cultural questionnaires.
Yesterday a very nice girl in my Spanish cultural studies class presented on a topic we hadn't covered: fashion. More specifically, she told us about how Madrid has banned size 0 models from their catwalks, and the rest of the country (and even Milan) have followed suit. [Pun intended.] Size 0 means size 4 in the UK, and I have no idea what it is in the U.S., which is probably the first time I can't find an equivalent in the States for something as universal as clothes. I've been here too long.
In any case, her topic instigated an hour-long discussion that reached such topics as fashion trends, body image (for women AND men), and health issues like anorexia. A size 0 model had collapsed and died on the Madrid catwalk because she had been eating only lettuce leaves for months, which I think really drew attention to the seriousness of the issue of teeny tiny models for Spanish cultural/fashion/health officials.
However, I do have to say that I did not like how the presenter said that "since most fashion designers are gay men, their ideal of the female form is rather boyish." Something tells me that this is not even true. There are many female fashion designers and a minority of straight male designers, too. Who said that gay men think the female form is "boyish" and why would that be the reason for clothes only being designed to fit walking hangers? Plus, she has linked homosexuality with pedophilia. Does she think all gay men prefer "boyish" men and/or boys?
But I digress.
In the discussion, they asked me about fashion trends in the U.S. If people have such anxiety over their weight and size and body image and finding clothes that fits them. What did I contribute? This: "Well, whatever I have to say is very subjective. Because I am so short, I have to find ankle-length or petite bottoms. This is a very hard thing to do." How insightful, I know. I had the opportunity to say some of the differences between how people want to look here and the image people want to or unintentionally project at home. And I didn't take it. Oh well.
And in my French film class, le prof was interested in where Les Amants du Pont-Neuf (1991) fits in critically and commercially in "North America." (I hate it when they call it that; I cannot speak for all of America let alone for all of Canada and Mexico and Guatemala and Nicaragua and etc., too.) He asked me this because people in the class were curious to how it relates to Diva (1981) and Subway (1985), if this film is also part of the cinema du look phenomenon. Plus, Les Amants is a very famous film, and he assumed that it was so in the U.S., too. And yes, I think cinephiles and foreign film-lovers would know it, so I said that it ranks with Krzysztof Kieslowski's Trois Couleurs: Blue (1993), White (1994), and Red (1994). Yeah, I still think that's about right.
Figures people would only become interested in my Americanness in the last week of classes.
Yesterday a very nice girl in my Spanish cultural studies class presented on a topic we hadn't covered: fashion. More specifically, she told us about how Madrid has banned size 0 models from their catwalks, and the rest of the country (and even Milan) have followed suit. [Pun intended.] Size 0 means size 4 in the UK, and I have no idea what it is in the U.S., which is probably the first time I can't find an equivalent in the States for something as universal as clothes. I've been here too long.
In any case, her topic instigated an hour-long discussion that reached such topics as fashion trends, body image (for women AND men), and health issues like anorexia. A size 0 model had collapsed and died on the Madrid catwalk because she had been eating only lettuce leaves for months, which I think really drew attention to the seriousness of the issue of teeny tiny models for Spanish cultural/fashion/health officials.
However, I do have to say that I did not like how the presenter said that "since most fashion designers are gay men, their ideal of the female form is rather boyish." Something tells me that this is not even true. There are many female fashion designers and a minority of straight male designers, too. Who said that gay men think the female form is "boyish" and why would that be the reason for clothes only being designed to fit walking hangers? Plus, she has linked homosexuality with pedophilia. Does she think all gay men prefer "boyish" men and/or boys?
But I digress.
In the discussion, they asked me about fashion trends in the U.S. If people have such anxiety over their weight and size and body image and finding clothes that fits them. What did I contribute? This: "Well, whatever I have to say is very subjective. Because I am so short, I have to find ankle-length or petite bottoms. This is a very hard thing to do." How insightful, I know. I had the opportunity to say some of the differences between how people want to look here and the image people want to or unintentionally project at home. And I didn't take it. Oh well.
And in my French film class, le prof was interested in where Les Amants du Pont-Neuf (1991) fits in critically and commercially in "North America." (I hate it when they call it that; I cannot speak for all of America let alone for all of Canada and Mexico and Guatemala and Nicaragua and etc., too.) He asked me this because people in the class were curious to how it relates to Diva (1981) and Subway (1985), if this film is also part of the cinema du look phenomenon. Plus, Les Amants is a very famous film, and he assumed that it was so in the U.S., too. And yes, I think cinephiles and foreign film-lovers would know it, so I said that it ranks with Krzysztof Kieslowski's Trois Couleurs: Blue (1993), White (1994), and Red (1994). Yeah, I still think that's about right.
Figures people would only become interested in my Americanness in the last week of classes.
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