The bane of my Wednesday

It is my strong suspicion that lab reports were designed for one of two purposes: A) to incite suicidal tendencies in the poor students forced to write them; or B) to rapidly produce entire generations of students who abhor science.

Never mind that the lectures might actually be fascinating - or at least vaguely interesting - and certainly applicable to everyday life. The misery of the lab report shrouds the entire experience in a general unpleasantness, in turn doing the opposite of what requisite science classes have set out to do: rather than generating interest or encouraging students to further pursue such a useful field, they are instead found running as quickly as possible in the opposite direction at the mere mention of the S-word.

And don't you dare speak that 9-lettered abomination.


f'-ing L*b R#p&t...

He IS a MP-WASP. What a Dick.

Someone *ahem* pointed out the fact that Mike Collins (NPR, Charlotte Talks) is hard to listen to because he's clearly a Myers Park uppity WASP dick. Today, I listened... and I heard it. Nearly eight years of listening to Charlotte Talks (high school, college) albeit intermittently (I couldn't listen as much when I wasn't in the country)... I'd never noticed before. Maybe it didn't strike me as odd because he sounds like my Myers Park neighbors. Who knows, Mike could very well be the guy sitting next to me at my grand MP church. (Which I do recognize as antithetical to me, although I continue to attend)

Anyways, I'm not ready to give up on Charlotte Talks yet. I still think he asks good questions, and I often like his guests (Dr. El-Nawawy this morning!). But... I hear it.

Write by Numbers

So, I love This American Life. All you non-listeners really should get with it. If you don't even know what I'm talking about... oh, I might cry. NPR, Ira Glass. Alex and I listen to it at night while falling asleep. I know, I know, don't we have anything better to do before falling asleep than listening to a gay Jewish man tell stories on National Public Radio? Don't worry, there's lots of hours in the day, there's time for Ira... and everything else. 

But, I've diverged. I meant to tell you about this one particular episode that I loved... and that I wish I could mimic when writing my own essay. See, these artists observed how everything in the world seems determined by polling and statistics. So they thought, why not art? Paintings, music? They commissioned a study to find out what the greatest numbers of people wanted in a painting, and then in a song. They painted two paintings: what people want, and what people don't want. The one that people want has blues and greens, a mountain, a lake, a family... and George Washington. 

They did the same for music. The most hated song is hilarious. They included everything that people do not want in music: accordion, banjo, bagpipes. It is 21 minutes long and features an opera singer. Who raps. About cowboys. There are intervals of children's voices - people apparently hate children's voices - and bits about random holidays. In my dream last night, I heard one of the children's bits, and woke up singing it. It goes something like "It's Labor day! Labor day, labor day. Schools are closed and pools are opened... Labor day, la-labor day..." (hear episode here or visit artists' website here... really, you should go listen)

I was thinking. I'd kind of like to write the rest of my essay by poll. Just survey all of you to find out what you want to read, now that you already have a general idea of the essay's direction. Find out what parts you like, what you want to know more about, what you want me to delete. I'd like to write by numbers. The customer's always right. So, I could just find out what you want and give it to you. It worked for painting and music...

We're Supposed to Blog About the Editing Process

I must say, I was really surprised that no one criticized/complained about/put large Xs through the preachy/rant-y sections of my essay. Those were the sections that bothered (and continue to bother) me the most... maybe you didn't want to insult me? I'm actually a little confused... but, those will certainly be the first sections to go. Or maybe I won't delete them entirely... but they'll certainly get tweaked. 

For Andrew, I will see if some of the dashes can go... which is tough because I think in dashes. If you could see my thoughts (er... maybe that wouldn't be  a good idea) typed out, it would be all sorts of dashes and dots. But my writing doesn't have to look exactly like my thinking. Hopefully, at least, my writing will be more linear... less never-ending forever-branching rabbit holes. 

Thankfully I don't have to add much in terms of length... maybe just erase some superfluous stuff and elaborate on the more meaningful stuff (and I'm identifying what was meaningful by looking at the parts in which there was consensus about it being impact-ful)

Oh boy, this is gonna be fun.

A spectre is haunting Europe

Historical fact of the day: 

161 years ago today, in 1848, the Communist Manifesto was first published, becoming one of the world's most influential political tracts. 

Some things you may not know: 

• The Manifesto was originally written by Engels, but when he gave it to Marx for revision, Marx tore it apart and rewrote it. Engels later wrote in an introduction to the Manifesto that the thought was entirely Marx's. 
• Marx's wife, Jenny, was from a wealthy family; to support herself and her husband, Jenny slowly pawned inherited silver throughout the years (Marx wasn't widely known or read during his life).
• Before the publication of the Manifesto, Marx was jailed in Brussels for revolutionary activity. He defended himself in court, and the jury later wrote to thank him for the interesting lesson he gave on the activity for which he was originally arrested. 
• Marx spoke German, English, French, Latin, and read Russian. His early manuscripts were written in Latin. 
• The Manifesto contains the essence of Marx's theory.
• The Manifesto was commissioned by the Communist League of London

Workers of the world, unite!

Diane Rehm is my "wake up early" motivator

I hate waking up late.
Ok, that's only sort of true. I love waking up at a reasonable hour, rolling over, and going back to sleep. That feeling is something along the lines of "pure joy".But I hate starting my day late, of feeling like I lost hours and wasted time.

More than anything, I despise waking late on weekdays for one specific reason: Diane Rehm.
NPR, and especially WFAE, is something of an addiction. One of the greatest feelings of elation while living abroad was the realization that I could get the live stream of WFAE... in my room in Lima.

But when I wake up late, I miss Morning Edition. I miss Charlotte Talks. No Steve Inskeep. No Renée Montagne. Instead, my ears are assailed by Diane Rehm. Which, for the record, is a rather undesireable way to wake up. As my boyfriend says, its something like awaking in a hospital... or a nursing home.

Okay, okay. She's a good interviewer, fine, I'm not disagreeing. But that's akin to telling me that olives or pickles are good for me, therefore I should like them (don't you dare approach me with a pickle). Or that Johnny Depp is an excellent actor. I don't care how good he is, he scares me.

Diane Rehm is good. Great, even. Yet the mornings I sleep through the soothing voices of intelligent morning news, that's it. I try -I try hard- to listen to her. And then, after 5 minutes, I inevitably change the station.

Which means that, not only does waking up to Ms. Rehm devestate my morning, it leaves me in an uncomfortable, news-less state for the rest of the day.

That's all the motivation I need to wake up early.

Most Random Wedding Reception Ever

So, I was thinking about weddings recently - a lot of people I know are getting married. Parents, friends...one of my best friends is going to 11 weddings this year!

And as more time passes, I decide that I don't have much interest in a super-typical reception. Not that there's anything wrong with typical and traditional. I tend to be pretty traditional myself. What I want isn't completely off in left field, either. But I think, when I get married, I just want the reception to be a huge party with all of the random stuff I love but can't have in my normal life.

I want one of those ridiculous mall photo booths that print the strips of 5 photos.

I want a soft-serve ice cream machine with a friend calling out "Que Rico! Que Delicioso! Helado de Maquina! How Rich! How Delicious! Ice Cream from a Machine!" (long story), accompanied by a table of sundae fixins.

I want my most favorite street food vendor from right outside my university in Lima to come and fix his to-die-for Sandwich Royal (shredded chicken, potato sticks, cheese, a fried egg, shredded lettuce, ají, and good bread). AND, his name is Tio Bigote (Uncle Mustache) which is unbeatable. His Royal is the sandwich by which all other Sandwich Royales are judged.

Tio Bigote, the love of my (culinary) life.

Instead of a little man and woman atop the cake, I want two turtles stacked on top of one another.

Our first dance might be a gag... but only if we can both do it with a straight face (this ridiculous dance we call "the love dance" that was invented to make me feel better but instead makes me cringe) and only for a few seconds and then we'll dance for real. I can't even watch it with a straight face, so... we'll see.

I won't be getting married for awhile, but I can't wait. I can't wait for the romantic part, sure. But I'm really looking forward for the once-in-a-lifetime chance to have the random things that make me (us...since it won't just be my party) happy. And, no one can say a thing... its whatever we want it to be...its our day, damn it.

Book Binge

As sometimes happen when I get bored with real life (or even when I don't), the past week or so I've been on a Book Binge. I'm always -always- reading something, but every couple of months that will go into overdrive and I'll just devour everything I can get my hands on.

So, here's the overview of what I've slammed down recently:

My Ishmael, Daniel Quinn. What can I say, other than... read it. Actually, read the other first: Ishmael. But be sure to read both of them. Some people think that they're "nice stories" and then write them off... but for those who are affected by them, they can be paradigm-shifting. As for me, Quinn manages to articulate what has bothered me so much in all I've seen, so both books hit home. Maybe you'll be affected and find yourself like one friend, drunk on your birthday and on camera, disturbed and yelling "they locked up the food, man, they locked up the food!"

Change of Heart, Jodi Picoult. Picoult is my (not-so) secret indulgence in "beach reads" and other bestsellers that I usually regard as fluff. She's my way of completely disappearing from the world; this book I read in one sitting on a Sunday. It is well written, the plot moves quickly, and this one made me think. She has this style of writing from a different person's perspective each chapter, which is interesting and she does very well. The story was still sinking in several days after I finished it.

Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut. Another one I read within a day and a half. Vonnegut is freakin nuts, and its great. I read Sirens of Titan a couple of months ago, and loved that as well. He writes absolutely insane things in the most matter-of-fact way, which, especially in Sirens of Titan, is hilarious. I really like Slaughterhouse Five's perspective on death. I just wish we could actually visit those moments in the past where our loved ones still exist. So it goes...

Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole. I'm in the middle of this one right now. It took me a little while to get really hooked, but its another preposterous, hilarious novel. The characters are so absurd that it is captivating.

We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families, Philip Gourevitch. I'm reading it for a class, but it is one that has been on my "to read" list for years. The writing is excellent - for once, journalistic style done well in a longer book. And thank God, because the topic is done justice (its about the Rwanda genocide, which happens to fascinate me).

I feel like I am missing a book or two, because I know this isn't all I've read... maybe its because I'm not including the school reading? There are a few more that I started last month that I am just now finishing up, but I don't consider them part of my binge... they're just normal reading. If any happen to be must-reads, I'll be sure to pass them on. Oh, and I musn't forget that book by that cynical bastard Klosterman...

Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs

What a cynical bastard.

yeah, ok, the first two chapters made me laugh. but a whole book of this? really?

I have spent much of my post-elementary school life perfecting my MTV avoidance skills. (I happen to hate MTV with a passion...and it all started with hatred for the Real World. See, those ridiculous supposed-to-be-sexy teen-idol TRL guys irritated me, but what made me want to throw glass bottles at every TV tuned to MTV... that was all Real World) So imagine my joy in reading about this detestable piece of television trash for an entire 13 pages!

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I have absolutely nothing to say. That may be why I hate my personal essay with a passion - I actually can't bear to reread it, although I know I'll have to eventually. Its odd because I usually have plenty to say, usually just observations about the world around me. It was nice to hear that encouraged in the last class - that we should try and "see" the world around us - because that's typically the way I see, anyways.

But I promise, you really don't want to read what I see in the world right now. I'm usually an optimist, an idealist, blah blah all those wonderful descriptors. Well, that's flown out the window. I open my pantry in the morning and see: excess. I look at the grass in my yard and oaks in the woods and see: the pavement we've used to separate ourselves from this beautiful natural world. I watch the sunset: I miss the way the sun set over the Pacific in Lima, filled with passion and drama. What the hell is this, this puny Eastern seaboard faded watercolor show?
Uh-huh, yeah, see the bright side, yadda yadda.

Maybe I'll fake it. Girls are sposed to be good at that, right? (Er...that is, if you've dated the guys my friends and I have...) From now on, pretty happy sunshiney.... fuck. Sunshiney what? Its raining today. Hell, I'm going back to bed. I'll try on those rose-colored glasses later.

"Blogging: Never Before Have So Many People with So Little to Say Said So Much to So Few."

Liar, Liar

I cannot actually remember the last time I lied. 

No, that's not a lie.

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I find myself to be incredibly boring. That is the main obstacle to this personal essay thing: I don't have anything of substance to write about myself. I mean not that I am bored with my life. I love my life. I have done some really amazing things and met some incredible people. I'm in a wonderful (wow listen to all of these bland, generic descriptors!) relationship that sounds more like a romantic movie than real life. But that doesn't mean anyone else wants to actually read those things. I don't even write them for myself. My own personal writing is more focused on processing the world around me - the intense experiences I have had in poverty, with refugees, in isolated rural communities and overcrowded urban slums, in extreme wealth, with abuse of all types, etc. I process those experiences, I process my intense and growing dislike and discomfort with almost all aspects of American culture. The challenges are A) to weave that into some sort of narrative about myself and B) to not rage against the US and the screwed-up-ness of the world for 15 pages.... which I could do, but it would be neither readable nor effective. Looks like it might be a long night. 

Overload

So, here's the deal. I am overworked and over-stressed. I've been trying to work on my essay for the past week, and as it turns out I can't seem to write anything that I like even a little bit. My real goal for this essay is to write something that will not make everyone else in the class reach for their pens... that is, reach for them not to edit but to stab themselves. My goal is not to induce desires of self-harm in every poor soul who must read my work.

Not that I think I'm a terrible, should-be-banned-from-purchasing-pen-and-paper, god-awful writer. Its just that, on top of this essay, I have the Borges presentation (damn you, you blind bastard), the critiques of the first four personal essays, varying degrees of busywork for other classes, and a veritable buttload of reading. 

Perhaps this is a forewarning, or an apology. Or maybe its a plea for gentleness... may my writing not come into contact with your shredders, and may I not see you walking around campus with any sort of bandage. 

And, for everyone else in the same position as I, happy writing!

Just biding my time.... (senioritis, anyone?)

Most people would agree that biding one's time is not an ideal use of time at all. This is certainly a mantra of every self-help section of every bookstore I've ever seen: live in the now, appreciate today, be present each moment. Not to say that it is incorrect, although the mere thought of those shelves of books, each proclaiming the right way to be happier now, does make me a bit ill.

Maybe its an act of belated adolescent rebellion against all wisdom, or maybe I am just sick of the now, because this semester I am doing just what I should not: I am biding my time. I'm sitting around, dragging my feet through my readings and assignments and appointments; I'm waiting for my real life to begin.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know it's not good. But it is. As a second semester senior, I have more than a vague idea that my life will really begin sometime after May. Or, the life that I choose. Sure, I chose this - I needn't be reminded. And I like learning, I really do. I will read and study and debate and learn without being enrolled in a degree program. But I'm bored, antsy, and ready to move on.

It may have something to do with the fact that I am in a long-distance relationship, and most of my fabulous future plans involve Alex. Or maybe that I can't see myself in the Carolinas long-term, which means that each subsequent week is just another week spent waiting to leave.

I don't even know what I want to do when I graduate. That's deliberate - I have never had a period of time in my life when I didn't have a plan or something upcoming. Other than the impending poverty and lack of health insurance, the terrible job market is reassuring because it means that the forthcoming rejections won't be personal, per se - its just the economy. It will be culturally sanctioned unemployment, allowing me to think about what I really want to do. 

So what do I want to do? There is a list, already long and constantly growing. Less than .01% of the ideas involve earning money; none of them have a time frame. What I know is that none of them can be done here or now, so I must sit around waiting for the here and now to end before the list can begin.

The List: Things that make me even more antsy as I bide my time
- Hike the Appalachian Trail (AT)
- Hike the Mountains-to-Sea Trail (MST)
- Hike the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT)
- Volunteer with No Mas Muertos, an organization that provides humanitarian assistance on the US-Mexico border
- Return to Peru, where I lived for the past year, with Alex, to complete the adventures we began there
- Live in the same city (!) as Alex
- Engagement and all that follows...
- Learn the United States: I have currently seen more countries in the world than states in the US
- Climb Mt. Kilimanjaro
- Work in/visit the Democratic Republic of the Congo
- Master's, PhD
- Live on the West Coast (Seattle?)
- Seminary
- Live with/near my grandparents (1month-ish) and other important friends (not in the Carolinas!)
- Play chess over breakfast, have intellectual conversations over lunch, and laugh until I gag over dinner (e.g. life with Alex...)
- Hike the Wonderland Trail (around the base of Mt. Rainier)
- Extended time in Mexico?
- Staff or participate in another Global Urban Trek
- Anthropological/Sociological research among refugees in the US and/or camps around the world
- Live in a city where I don't need a car

etc, etc, etc.....