seeing, smelling, feeling

Men make me giggle. Here are some examples of why they do:

1.) At the cafe yesterday where I enjoyed some Earl Grey and a white chocolate fudge-covered biscuit, the Turkish man behind the counter asked which size I wanted for the tea: large or small. I asked to see them both to gauge the difference.

"This is large."

"OK. And what is small?"

And then he smiled, "Me." I immediately thought, he's not advertising himself well. English is not his first language I am guessing, but I would think in every language a man would rather be large.

2.) I smell like men's perfume. Some call it cologne. But let's face it, the guys who do not spray Axe/Lynx all over their bodies but spray something on them nevertheless like to smell pretty. I wouldn't call it musk.

Anyway, the guy next to me on the bus smelled a bit fruity. And just a half hour ago, a neighbor who is leaving today hugged me (shocker!) and basically smeared it all over me. I smell like him now. What a souvenir.

3.) On an episode of "Rome" (2005-2007) that I watched last night, Lucius Vorenus (Kevin McKidd) was complaining to friend Titus Pullo (Ray Stevenson) about how his wife won't let him "couple" with her. Is she just angry at him? Is she not satisfied? To summarize, Titus suggested Lucius find the g-spot. But, as this is ca. 50 BC, there wasn't an exact word for it.

What is the best bit is the look Lucius gives Titus. "How do you know this about my wife?"

"Chill, Lucius, all women have them. Trust me."

happy birthday cillian, colm, and colin*

Here is a totally stupid observation I made today:

At least three stars of the little Irish comedy Intermission (2003) have their birthdays within a week of one another. And within this past week to boot. First, last Friday Cillian Murphy turned 31. Today Colm Meaney turns 54. And tomorrow Colin Farrell will be 31.

I need to find something to occupy my time so that I don't end up making only trivial connections for the rest of my days. That logic--that slippery slope--is absurd, I know. Oh but you know how I love birthdays.




*I asterisk this not only because it's funny that all their names begin with a 'C' but because they're all so... Irish. (Then again Colin is actually very Scottish, too.)

this spanish history chapter is closed

It happened again today. I first wrote only an "OK" essay and then wrote a "great" one by comparison. I wonder if they would have been different if I had tackled them in the opposite order. I wonder because the order I answered them was a sort of strategy, the second question first. But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me step back.

Today was my Spanish film exam. I knew that there would be two sections, the first being a scene analysis and the second being more comparative. I decided that since the comparative/more thematic essay would probably take more conceptualization/planning, I would start with that one first because I would have liked to have more energy for it. Turns out I just don't work like that. The longer and the harder I work, it seems, the better the results.

In this comparative essay based around a quotation, I suggested that the statement from Todo sobre mi madre (1999) that the character Huma Rojo as Blanche DuBois in the play A Streetcar Named Desire says ("I have always depended on the kindness of strangers") can be applied to the friendships formed in that film as well as the ones developed between strangers in Flores de otro mundo/Flowers from Another World (1999) and El espiritu de la colmena/The Spirit of the Beehive (1973). Yeah, OK. But it's not very interesting. I like that I used three films, though. One more than the required minimum.

But then I only picked up steam.

For the scene analysis essay, there was one from each of the five films we studied, and I chose the one from Soldados de Salamina/Soldiers of Salamina (2003). I linked how the particular scene (that my professor chose) is extremely important for the overall message of the film: that the younger generations today in Spain owe it to themselves and to those who fought in the Civil War (1936-9) to seek out stories from both sides to reconcile the past. In other words, the main character, Lola, a journalist/novelist, after losing her father (who was probably just a kid during or after the war), represents the younger generation(s) and was once apathetic toward understanding the war. But by the end of the film she sees its importance in her life and how people (like her) should never forget it. After all, the generation that was around during and/or after the war is starting to die off.

If this quick summary was confusing, just keep in mind I was much more articulate throughout my essay. Proud of it. It was another one of those "organic" essay-writing moments where I never lost track of my thoughts and never veered toward contradicting myself.

Before the start of the exam, my professor wished me luck and said that she hoped I would have fun with it. I wouldn't go that far, but it was one of the more pleasant exam-taking experiences I have had here.

Six down. Two to go!

P.S. In their efforts to anonymize the exams for "blind marking," they give us seat numbers and we're required to record our number on the exam booklets. Then later on they can match the number on our notebooks with our number on the master list of names. Today I was number seven. Yeah, I thought that might make me lucky. As in "lucky number seven." But it was a sort of a thrill to write "007" on my exam booklets, let me tell you. Bad ass, really.

what's up, duck?

For weeks now two ducks have called the courtyard of my building home. They don't really hide themselves but they're still antisocial. In fact, they sit very near the wooden lunch tables during the day, but only when they're empty. They curl up inside their chests and look as if they're ceramic.

But they come alive at night. They quack and quack and quack. I'm not complaining. I rather like the sound. It's really quite cute, but what isn't cute is when the drunkards rumble home in the wee hours of the morning and imitate the ducks, pestering them and those of us who aren't yet asleep.

What I don't understand is how the ducks can live here. There is no water. No pond or anything. Are the puddles enough for them? I guess so. And what do they eat? Do they depend on bread bits for sustenance?

I think I might miss them.

spoiled little rich girl

This just in, from the celebrity news outlet on IMDb:

Lohan Loses Sponsors for 21st Birthday
Vodka company Svedka has reportedly pulled out as sponsors of Lindsay Lohan's 21st birthday party in Las Vegas this summer. The Mean Girls actress, who has attended Alcoholics Anonymous in the past, had teamed up with the drinks company for her glitzy two-day bash on July 2, but it appears Svedka has had second thoughts about their involvement in the celebrations, according to the New York Daily News. Other sponsors for the landmark birthday celebrations include Pure nightclub, Caesars Palace and the Social House restaurant at Treasure Island.

This leaves out the bit that they probably pulled out of sponsoring her birthday because she was arrested under the suspicion that she was driving under the influence in the wee hours of Saturday morning. But that is not why I post this. I merely want to know why ANY companies would sponsor a birthday for ANYONE like it's a sporting event. I have never seen anything like this before, and quite frankly, I find it very stupid. Who can I get to sponsor my 21st birthday, eh? I can't even think of a brand. My father will do just fine.

my clothes made it home before i did

On Friday, I shipped three packages of clothing, each weighing in at two kilograms (that's a little over four pounds). Just got word that at least one of them arrived today at my house.

Not only is this exceptional in general, it is extraordinary because I shipped them via sea. The woman at the post office on campus said that with this cheapest option, it would take between four and six weeks to reach its destination. To be safe, she said ten weeks at most. In addition to its being cheap, I also chose this option because I wasn't in dire need of the clothes. I thought I could live without them for a week or two after getting home. I mean, I sent tweed pants. I won't need those in Maryland during the summer.

Anyway, it only took a few days. Isn't that incredible? Why do they overestimate themselves by so much, anyway? Why is Royal Mail (aka the British Postal Service) so quick compared to its American counterpart? Is it because the UK has fewer people (and thus, perhaps, less mail)? Or did I just time it right when a ship was leaving? Actually, I bet it took a plane because I unknowingly timed it right. I mean, I was warned that it could take a plane and not even a boat. What service! And service elsewhere sucks (at the grocery store, in the restaurants, at the airports, etc.).

icehouse isn't just the name of a band

It's almost June and I am sitting in my room, watching Todo sobre mi madre (1999), wearing my winter coat and socks. I think the heater is turned all the way up. I've tried turning the knob all the way in the other direction but I don't notice a difference. I just hope it gets warmer and sunnier here soon. This is uncomfortable. And I've taken so many naps in the past couple of days; it's easiest to keep warm in that iron lung for a bed that I have. I've become lazy because of it, too.

randomity doesn't float; it sits in labeled boxes

I just noticed that I haven't written about anything "totally random" in ages. Since May 5 to be exact. I guess as I have become more and more detail-oriented, I have neglected to use that label. It's as if it no longer fits anything. Actually, I don't think it ever did. I mean, how could something be so random but move me to write about it? If I deemed it important enough to make permanent here (or as long as this blog exists in cyberspace), then it couldn't be random. Or at least it isn't anymore. The different random bits have the blog in common. And by extension: me.

Sorry, I just thought I should point that out.

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.

casting off

Finally! It's happened. The raspberry-colored acrylic scarf that I started in early November as my first knitting project is finished. I know, I know. I am a very slow knitter because I am still not comfortable with the moves. Plus my needles are metal and heavy. You should see how I hold the needles and yarn while knitting. Highly inefficient. Also please keep in mind that I would go weeks without ever working on it because I probably made a mistake and didn't know how to fix it myself.

My friend Lisa is the one who originally taught me how to knit. She has watched me try to finish the project and she has been there to fix my many mistakes. Because of this, I must admit that she finished the scarf. In just ten minutes, she tacked on the extra inches that I was too impatient to add myself after I worked on it for an hour and a half this afternoon (and probably only added an inch). I am just so glad it's finished! And I'm definitely going to wear it out. I mean, how many times can you say that you're wearing something you yourself made? (Actually, for me, it's almost every day because I made the boxer shorts decorated with a loud floral pattern that I only wear at home, never out on the street.)

I will remember the scarf as my first knitting project, yes, but it has added significance because I will always associate it with my time in England.

what happens when you spend your saturday sitting an exam?

I literally just got back from my French film exam. I have done three silly things today and it is not even noon. And I'm not too proud to tell you about them here, in chronological order:

1.) It was so crowded in the hallway outside the examination room that I didn't even think to make sure that I was entering the correct restroom. Yes, in other words, I first went into the men's room. Seeing urinals, I thought, "Shit, I could have sworn the women's was on the left." I have no idea if other people noticed. If not, good. If they did, there were probably a lot. So many people were standing near the toilets.

2.) How about some irony? I rewatched five films to prepare for the exam: Subway (1985), Lacombe Lucien (1974), Les 400 Coups (1959), A Bout de souffle (1960), and Diva (1981). I anticipated that I would have to write two essays on the different groupings of the films (i.e. New Wave, cinema du look, etc.), so that's why I did this. But I ended up just writing an essay on Les Amants du Pont-Neuf (1991). I didn't rewatch it because I thought I remembered it well enough, but I dreaded the moment I actually had to name the main character. I think it's Alex. I hope so. That's what I wrote throughout the essay. I admit it wasn't very structured and that it was half-assed. But then I found myself reenergized for the second essay. Read on.

3.) The second essay, which was considerably a lot longer because I had so much more to say, was about how A Bout de souffle is the "most radically innovative film," "in cinematic terms," that I have studied on the course. Why is this funny other than the fact that I hate watching the film? I wrote a fuckin' killer essay. It is so good in fact that I wish I could get a copy of it. I love it because it was an essay that came together organically, really. There was never a point at which I stopped and realized I might be on the track toward contradicting myself. What a relief!

(In case you're interested, I wrote about how Godard uses innovative technology, editing methods, and storytelling techniques to illustrate his ideology that cinema is just an illusion of reality. In other words, he's acknowledging that there's not much of a story to A Bout de souffle. Instead, he's just manipulating the medium to show how constructed a medium it is.)

Five down. Three to go!