This got split because as I wrote last night I realized that it was a) really freaking long and b) getting late and I wanted to sleep. So. Part Two. This actually happened to people differently named and less introspective at the time. Also have decided not to number them anymore in case more things happen to me worth writing about in Cleveland.
II: In the Company of People Who Hate the Word Hippie
Mark is late. Predictably. I cannot remember him ever being on time for anything, and when I called him after my work wind-down and not directly after work as I'd said I would, he took over an hour to get to my apartment. Knowing Mark, I was not worried, nor was I angry. I took advantage of the time to make dinner and throw in a load of laundry, so when he arrived I was fed and pleased that something useful had gotten done with the evening.
Mark and I were on an expedition. I seem to have an agreement with the world that I cannot go to ethnic food stores with anyone but him, and I needed miso badly. So off we went to an Asian store about twenty minutes away that was supposedly big and bright and awesome.
On the way I looked out of the window at things. Looking at things in places I have not been is one of my hobbies. It also made me feel less bad that the conversation was less than stellar. Mark and I have a history. It is not a particularly long history to tell, but it was a very long history to live. He fell in love, I fell in love, he ran off to Virginia with a girl who might have been a lesbian.
Years later, we're still friends, but the friendship works much better when we're apart. He hedged around telling me he was dating someone, which made me laugh because I knew it already. I didn't say much at all and contented myself with looking out the window at things and thinking about how much had changed. He understood.
Since Mark and I dated, so much has changed. In fact, I think it's safe to say I am now a completely different person than the one who loved him. I think about this as I look at things and wonder if every generation is as fascinated with their aging process as I am.
It's also the fact that I loaded enough guilt on him for abandoning me that it always takes us a while to melt the ice--we both are afraid of saying something that will tip off a nuclear reaction in the other, even though I think we've both grown past that point.
The store is closed when we get there. He gets upset for a bit but I remain calm, and we decide to hit up our old favorite on Thirtieth and Payne. It is also closing, but a cute Chinese girl knocks on the locked doors and gets let in. Mark in his massive Caucasivity also gets in, and we buy our miso, dodging the glares of the employees.
On the way home I look at things and think about how little there is to say. How hard it is to break down that wall of not-wanting-to-give-the-wrong-impression. How little we have in common anymore, and how our paths have diverged when once we thought they were the same. How being with him changed me completely, almost overnight, and how I have slowly reverted to normal.
24 May 2006
Scenes, Set in Cleveland, Without Much Else in Common: One
I. Coventry School Playground.
We go to the playground because I'm mad. This time, specifically, I'm angry because he sat and read TIME magazine instead of talking to or looking at me when I came over. When I leave, he runs after me and suggests the playground as a peacemaking move, knowing full well that I have a weakness for swingsets and other childish things.
There are, not many, but a few kids playing--young ones, ranging from 2-5ish, with a parent apiece--and I notice how this makes us act: like adults clearly infringing upon their territory. We watch a man teach a couple kids how to play lacrosse. It would be endearing if I liked lacrosse.
But we do the things one is supposed to on the playground. We ramble through the fortress. I climb a turret and realize that although climbing has made me very, very good at getting up things, I am rather used to having someone gently lower me down instead of climbing down myself. Once upon a time I would have viewed this as a sign about my life, but now I just laugh. We go down the slide. He makes fun of me for keeping my feet down so I don't go too fast. We jump on balance beams, we climb tires, we dangle from ropes and yes, we swing.
I love swings. While we swing, he talks about how we could calculate what velocity it would take to catapault us over the beam, or how to make the tire swing go completely horizontal. He loves to talk about things like this, and I can never tell if he's doing it because I like physics or because he genuinely gets a kick out of it.
The man teaching the kids to play lacrosse packs up his equipment. There is a lot of it, and he stows it in a child's trailer attached to the back of his bike. While he does this, he hums or sings and talks to himself, and I wonder without malice if he is perhaps retarded.
We go on the zip line. He has trouble with his stupid long legs. I am still a little angry at him but he's made me laugh and we both know once I laugh and start to make jokes it's all over, no matter how mad I still want to be.
Suddenly there are swarms of kids on the grounds where before there were few. Most of them are holding balloons and I deduce--feeling brilliant--that it is kindergarten graduation night. Predictably, a few new graduates let theirs go and whine about it. I stand and watch the first released balloon until I can no longer see it, listening as a father tells his daughter that eventually the air pressure will decrease so much that the balloon will pop. She is all of two and his earnestness makes me smile. About 500 feet up into the atmosphere my boyfriend comes and puts his arms around me and we watch the balloons together. When the balloons are gone, so are the newly-minted first graders and their parents.
We swing on the ropes some more. The man playing lacrosse pulls his bike up and tells us that people look at him like he's crazy for storing stuff in the kiddie ride-a-long thing. We make small talk and he shows us his club arm and hand. I immediately feel like a terrible human being. Instead of making amends to mankind for all the wrongs I have vested upon them, I climb up a rope and am pleased with my arm strength.
While we're standing on some tires watching the sun set, the teenagers come out. Maybe seven or so, dressed in varying degrees of goth wanna-be. They take no notice of us and two peel off to run up the slide, and presumably make out or whatever those thirteen year olds do these days, one to pout in the fortress, and four on the swings, two girls apiece per swing, the lone white chick straddling her friend as they tilt back and forth, grinding their pelvises together.
Of course we messed up the timing. College kid time on the playground is after dark. Closer to midnight. When you can stand on the tire swing and move it using only your weight. When everything is funnier because you're just having fun, you're not out of your element, in the dark we're all kids again. Playing new games or the same old ones.
We go to the playground because I'm mad. This time, specifically, I'm angry because he sat and read TIME magazine instead of talking to or looking at me when I came over. When I leave, he runs after me and suggests the playground as a peacemaking move, knowing full well that I have a weakness for swingsets and other childish things.
There are, not many, but a few kids playing--young ones, ranging from 2-5ish, with a parent apiece--and I notice how this makes us act: like adults clearly infringing upon their territory. We watch a man teach a couple kids how to play lacrosse. It would be endearing if I liked lacrosse.
But we do the things one is supposed to on the playground. We ramble through the fortress. I climb a turret and realize that although climbing has made me very, very good at getting up things, I am rather used to having someone gently lower me down instead of climbing down myself. Once upon a time I would have viewed this as a sign about my life, but now I just laugh. We go down the slide. He makes fun of me for keeping my feet down so I don't go too fast. We jump on balance beams, we climb tires, we dangle from ropes and yes, we swing.
I love swings. While we swing, he talks about how we could calculate what velocity it would take to catapault us over the beam, or how to make the tire swing go completely horizontal. He loves to talk about things like this, and I can never tell if he's doing it because I like physics or because he genuinely gets a kick out of it.
The man teaching the kids to play lacrosse packs up his equipment. There is a lot of it, and he stows it in a child's trailer attached to the back of his bike. While he does this, he hums or sings and talks to himself, and I wonder without malice if he is perhaps retarded.
We go on the zip line. He has trouble with his stupid long legs. I am still a little angry at him but he's made me laugh and we both know once I laugh and start to make jokes it's all over, no matter how mad I still want to be.
Suddenly there are swarms of kids on the grounds where before there were few. Most of them are holding balloons and I deduce--feeling brilliant--that it is kindergarten graduation night. Predictably, a few new graduates let theirs go and whine about it. I stand and watch the first released balloon until I can no longer see it, listening as a father tells his daughter that eventually the air pressure will decrease so much that the balloon will pop. She is all of two and his earnestness makes me smile. About 500 feet up into the atmosphere my boyfriend comes and puts his arms around me and we watch the balloons together. When the balloons are gone, so are the newly-minted first graders and their parents.
We swing on the ropes some more. The man playing lacrosse pulls his bike up and tells us that people look at him like he's crazy for storing stuff in the kiddie ride-a-long thing. We make small talk and he shows us his club arm and hand. I immediately feel like a terrible human being. Instead of making amends to mankind for all the wrongs I have vested upon them, I climb up a rope and am pleased with my arm strength.
While we're standing on some tires watching the sun set, the teenagers come out. Maybe seven or so, dressed in varying degrees of goth wanna-be. They take no notice of us and two peel off to run up the slide, and presumably make out or whatever those thirteen year olds do these days, one to pout in the fortress, and four on the swings, two girls apiece per swing, the lone white chick straddling her friend as they tilt back and forth, grinding their pelvises together.
Of course we messed up the timing. College kid time on the playground is after dark. Closer to midnight. When you can stand on the tire swing and move it using only your weight. When everything is funnier because you're just having fun, you're not out of your element, in the dark we're all kids again. Playing new games or the same old ones.
22 May 2006
Pride Comes in Handy
Today was my first day of work. I was assigned to follow around a post-doc as he isolated the cardiac myocytes we were culturing. In layman's speak, this translates to:
Prepare a couple of buffered solutions, one with calcium and one not.
Go downstairs through the "renovations" and pick up a lovely albino guinea pig.
Bring said guinea pig upstairs and put on lab bench.
Prepare phenobarbitol injection. (the same stuff that is/used to be used in lethal injections)
Give injection to guinea pig.
As soon as reflexes stop, indicating brain death, tape down legs.
Remove fur; cut through ribcage.
Snip dorsal blood vessels.
Snip ventral blood vessel.
Remove heart (still beating) and wash to remove blood.
Hook heart up to a drip of the buffered solutions. The calcium-containing one will cause the heart to still beat disembodied which is pretty freaking cool. Total time from death to hook up: less than one minute. Otherwise the heart is dead and you have to start over.
Rinse heart with an enzyme solution to dissolve everything but muscle tissue.
Cut up heart to release cells.
Culture cells in pretty pink stuff.
When he wrapped up the guinea pig body to hand to me, I nearly dropped it. It was still warm.
A-freaking-mazing. I cannot wait to go back tomorrow where I get to actually do some of this rather than just watch. That will probably include the shot as the girl I'm shadowing is squeamish when it comes to animals. It's amazing what sitting on your inner "oooh, the cute little animal" can do in the name of science. This research, eventually, may shed light on what causes unexpected massive, usually fatal, heart attacks (like the one that killed my grandfather) and possibly aid people with cystic fibrosis.
Prepare a couple of buffered solutions, one with calcium and one not.
Go downstairs through the "renovations" and pick up a lovely albino guinea pig.
Bring said guinea pig upstairs and put on lab bench.
Prepare phenobarbitol injection. (the same stuff that is/used to be used in lethal injections)
Give injection to guinea pig.
As soon as reflexes stop, indicating brain death, tape down legs.
Remove fur; cut through ribcage.
Snip dorsal blood vessels.
Snip ventral blood vessel.
Remove heart (still beating) and wash to remove blood.
Hook heart up to a drip of the buffered solutions. The calcium-containing one will cause the heart to still beat disembodied which is pretty freaking cool. Total time from death to hook up: less than one minute. Otherwise the heart is dead and you have to start over.
Rinse heart with an enzyme solution to dissolve everything but muscle tissue.
Cut up heart to release cells.
Culture cells in pretty pink stuff.
When he wrapped up the guinea pig body to hand to me, I nearly dropped it. It was still warm.
A-freaking-mazing. I cannot wait to go back tomorrow where I get to actually do some of this rather than just watch. That will probably include the shot as the girl I'm shadowing is squeamish when it comes to animals. It's amazing what sitting on your inner "oooh, the cute little animal" can do in the name of science. This research, eventually, may shed light on what causes unexpected massive, usually fatal, heart attacks (like the one that killed my grandfather) and possibly aid people with cystic fibrosis.
21 May 2006
busy as a busy bee
It's been a productive couple of days, but since this isn't really a newsy sort of blog, I'll can it.
Couple of things recently: Gunther has to have the best life ever. He mumbles pseudo-seductively into a microphone, then gets to make music videos with European porn stars. Without a doubt, he is the most talent-free recording artist in the history of the industry--and I love it.
I have been eating really, really well lately. Let's see how long this keeps up before I slink back into my dry-tortellini-for-dinner hole.
That's it, I suppose. Not feeling very interesting lately.
Couple of things recently: Gunther has to have the best life ever. He mumbles pseudo-seductively into a microphone, then gets to make music videos with European porn stars. Without a doubt, he is the most talent-free recording artist in the history of the industry--and I love it.
I have been eating really, really well lately. Let's see how long this keeps up before I slink back into my dry-tortellini-for-dinner hole.
That's it, I suppose. Not feeling very interesting lately.
18 May 2006
Free Fall is the Most Frightening Thing
I've been at home--still am, in fact--and doing various other things where I don't have access to a computer for the past week. The nice thing about being so relaxed is that I have very vivid dreams, so that sleep is something I do several times a day just to see what my brain has planned for me this time.
Some old characters have shown up in my dreams recently, possibly due to the amount of relationship talk my mother and I have been doing. It never happens on the phone, you see, because she's never quite sure who's around, so we always make up for it when I'm home.
Last night I dreamed of my most recent ex and his current girlfriend and something about her confronting me about photography and something that had to do with him. Then I went on a giant swing to drink tequila sunrises and talk about twentifirst birthdays.
And since all this rain has made me introspective, I can't help but think about that relationship. How I loved him, despite all reason. How I was quite literally crazy about him, and the way the relationship and both of us nearly died. How now we never speak, and how I'm rather thankful for that, because it keeps those emotions clearly in the realm of the dead.
How I hurt good people for him, and how sorry I am. In fact, if I was sure it wouldn't be blatent drama-mongering, I'd head out and issue a few apologies. It's been a long time--it would be foolish to think that people still care.
There are exes that I severely regret how I treated. There are exes for which I feel nothing but relief. (not you, Glicoes, so don't get all prickly) There are exes that I miss. It's that time of year where all the mental machinery stops pumping and your brain slowly fills up with the thoughts that have been whizzing around passively powering it.
I'm happy now, relationship-wise. Not euphoric. But content. I wish I could change many things, but I can't--so I'll simply have to work to overcome them.
Some old characters have shown up in my dreams recently, possibly due to the amount of relationship talk my mother and I have been doing. It never happens on the phone, you see, because she's never quite sure who's around, so we always make up for it when I'm home.
Last night I dreamed of my most recent ex and his current girlfriend and something about her confronting me about photography and something that had to do with him. Then I went on a giant swing to drink tequila sunrises and talk about twentifirst birthdays.
And since all this rain has made me introspective, I can't help but think about that relationship. How I loved him, despite all reason. How I was quite literally crazy about him, and the way the relationship and both of us nearly died. How now we never speak, and how I'm rather thankful for that, because it keeps those emotions clearly in the realm of the dead.
How I hurt good people for him, and how sorry I am. In fact, if I was sure it wouldn't be blatent drama-mongering, I'd head out and issue a few apologies. It's been a long time--it would be foolish to think that people still care.
There are exes that I severely regret how I treated. There are exes for which I feel nothing but relief. (not you, Glicoes, so don't get all prickly) There are exes that I miss. It's that time of year where all the mental machinery stops pumping and your brain slowly fills up with the thoughts that have been whizzing around passively powering it.
I'm happy now, relationship-wise. Not euphoric. But content. I wish I could change many things, but I can't--so I'll simply have to work to overcome them.
11 May 2006
Can't Hurry Love
Statcounter really is the ultimate ego wank, isn't it?
Finals are over and I'm officially a senior! Last night the girls and I went out to celebrate at Sushi Rock with overpriced raw fish and martinis, but man was it worth it.
Sushi Rock has hands down the best sushi in town, I think, if you're not going for authentic but merely delicious. It's loud. It's trendy. It's jam-packed on half price night, which is the only time we can afford to go. Generally it just feels like a night out in a city should feel--pretty people wearing pretty clothes, getting chatted up by random guys while waiting, and then finally getting three big plates of sushi and stuffing ourselves silly to try to overcome the effects of the martinis that weren't that strong the last time we were there.
N noticed an interesting effect, though. We're all twenty-one now, which we weren't the last time, and now when we order drinks and dislike them for one reason or another we don't continue to gulp them down. It's okay to let them sit.
(personally, I stuck with my favorite Key Lime Pie martini, because I've had some things there that taste like lighter fluid)
More and more lately I am fascinated by this process of growing up. What it feels like. How I notice changes. Things that would have bothered me rolling off my back. Things that would have seemed okay now seeming stupid. It's strange. A little uncomfortable. But interesting.
Finals are over and I'm officially a senior! Last night the girls and I went out to celebrate at Sushi Rock with overpriced raw fish and martinis, but man was it worth it.
Sushi Rock has hands down the best sushi in town, I think, if you're not going for authentic but merely delicious. It's loud. It's trendy. It's jam-packed on half price night, which is the only time we can afford to go. Generally it just feels like a night out in a city should feel--pretty people wearing pretty clothes, getting chatted up by random guys while waiting, and then finally getting three big plates of sushi and stuffing ourselves silly to try to overcome the effects of the martinis that weren't that strong the last time we were there.
N noticed an interesting effect, though. We're all twenty-one now, which we weren't the last time, and now when we order drinks and dislike them for one reason or another we don't continue to gulp them down. It's okay to let them sit.
(personally, I stuck with my favorite Key Lime Pie martini, because I've had some things there that taste like lighter fluid)
More and more lately I am fascinated by this process of growing up. What it feels like. How I notice changes. Things that would have bothered me rolling off my back. Things that would have seemed okay now seeming stupid. It's strange. A little uncomfortable. But interesting.
10 May 2006
Things I Absolutely Can Never Keep Track Of
~ the number/gender breakdown of who all I have kissed
~ peoples' birthdays (this is embarassing)
~ the amount of battery left on any rechargable device
~ when and where my finals are
~ the day of the week
~ any pair of earrings save my giant "spoils of war" hoops
~ about 3000 bobby pins
~ books I have lent out
~ whether it's 'enamoured of,' 'enamoured by,' or 'enamoured with'
~ where the name 'Purvis Lodge' comes from and why it rings bells
~ my water bottle
~ my ID/keys, as they are usually in a state of 'lent' or 'returning to me, slowly'
~ nailclippers
~ various and sundry scraps of self-control and dignity
~ matches
~ when it is time to water the plants
~ peoples' birthdays (this is embarassing)
~ the amount of battery left on any rechargable device
~ when and where my finals are
~ the day of the week
~ any pair of earrings save my giant "spoils of war" hoops
~ about 3000 bobby pins
~ books I have lent out
~ whether it's 'enamoured of,' 'enamoured by,' or 'enamoured with'
~ where the name 'Purvis Lodge' comes from and why it rings bells
~ my water bottle
~ my ID/keys, as they are usually in a state of 'lent' or 'returning to me, slowly'
~ nailclippers
~ various and sundry scraps of self-control and dignity
~ matches
~ when it is time to water the plants
09 May 2006
Matters of Faith
The thing scientists really don't like to think about is that science, from some vantage points, is on just as "shaky" ground as religion. Religion is a matter of faith, scientists like to say, we deal with facts. With data, tables, and graphs. With equations and models and big books with big words. That's Authority, right, not some shadowy grandfather on a cloud?
But what about the leap of faith we (and by "we" I mean the scientific community) take by assuming the answers are out there to be found? What about our base assumptions that we make just because they allow us to work: that the principles of physics remain constant everywhere in the universe, that one electron is indistinguishable from another, that F=ma always and forever, no matter what? How is that different from assuming there is a god?
The devout see confirmation of their faith every day. Gravity still works. Check. Light still reflects the way it ought. Check. Chemical osmosis appears to still be allowing oxygen into my essential tissues. Check.
Wheras religious people pursue their enlightenment through prayer and devotion, we pursue ours in the labs and in front of the computers. And those completely dedicated to science may say "well, we don't have an explanation for this, but I'm sure there is one out there" just as a creationist might say of carbon-dating the age of the earth to 4.6 billion years.
Those not completely dedicated to science, however, might seek other explanations to stop the gaps; gaps in neuroscience, psychology, and evolution. To my mind (as of this writing, as my mind is a non-Newtonian fluid at present) this is no different from those who don't strictly adhere to one religion, perhaps finding meditation a good substitute for prayer.
The fact of the matter is, we're all searching for a filter to make the world make sense. And though scientists use a lot of logical tools, our base assumptions are grounded on faith, just as everyone else's are.
I think I have contradicted myself from yesterday's post. See previous parenthesis about non-Newtonian fluids. (Solid when you hit them quickly, liquid when you move slowly through them)
Sean, the funniest thing I have ever asked a science professor was "do you have a bottle opener?" as regarded my desire to drink beer in his office. I was met with some surprise.
The funniest scientific question I have ever asked a professor was "what would happen if you had a torus made out of magnet? How does the field go?" because the phrase "torus made out of magnet" is just really, really funny. At least to physics students.
But what about the leap of faith we (and by "we" I mean the scientific community) take by assuming the answers are out there to be found? What about our base assumptions that we make just because they allow us to work: that the principles of physics remain constant everywhere in the universe, that one electron is indistinguishable from another, that F=ma always and forever, no matter what? How is that different from assuming there is a god?
The devout see confirmation of their faith every day. Gravity still works. Check. Light still reflects the way it ought. Check. Chemical osmosis appears to still be allowing oxygen into my essential tissues. Check.
Wheras religious people pursue their enlightenment through prayer and devotion, we pursue ours in the labs and in front of the computers. And those completely dedicated to science may say "well, we don't have an explanation for this, but I'm sure there is one out there" just as a creationist might say of carbon-dating the age of the earth to 4.6 billion years.
Those not completely dedicated to science, however, might seek other explanations to stop the gaps; gaps in neuroscience, psychology, and evolution. To my mind (as of this writing, as my mind is a non-Newtonian fluid at present) this is no different from those who don't strictly adhere to one religion, perhaps finding meditation a good substitute for prayer.
The fact of the matter is, we're all searching for a filter to make the world make sense. And though scientists use a lot of logical tools, our base assumptions are grounded on faith, just as everyone else's are.
I think I have contradicted myself from yesterday's post. See previous parenthesis about non-Newtonian fluids. (Solid when you hit them quickly, liquid when you move slowly through them)
Sean, the funniest thing I have ever asked a science professor was "do you have a bottle opener?" as regarded my desire to drink beer in his office. I was met with some surprise.
The funniest scientific question I have ever asked a professor was "what would happen if you had a torus made out of magnet? How does the field go?" because the phrase "torus made out of magnet" is just really, really funny. At least to physics students.
08 May 2006
Science Rules
As I've stated a whole bunch of times previous, in the end, I want to write about science, not do it, for a living. An acquaintance of mine runs this ongoing thing on her blog about three times a year where any of her numerous readers can ask her a science question, and you would not believe some of the questions she gets. She's a chemist by profession, in case you're curious.
Science is one area in our education where our culture finds it perfectly okay to be completely ignorant. Part of this is our focus on faith, and part is our complete and total reluctance to teach "what science is" in classrooms. But that's not all, and I am tempted to call the other part sheer laziness, though I know that's cynical.
Part of the problem is that science is intimidating, and you need to keep up with it in order not to look like a total asshat. And science is hard. It involves math, usually, and not the kind of math you can easily master. The kind of math that someone can look at and say "well, you neglected this effect, so what appears to be a simple addition problem is now a twelfth-order differential equation." That's scary!
In our classrooms, we don't teach science. Not at the elementary and high school level. It wasn't till I got to college that I learned--indirectly--how to evaluate claims and determine if data is significant. The logical skepticism needed to throw out claims that pills will increase your penis/breast size or that "secret Swiss herbs" will help you lose weight is missing from our educational system.
So here's a poll. What do you, as educated and intelligent people, feel are some of the most misunderstood scientific issues today? Evolution is not a ladder, obviously. Organically derived medicines are not actually chemically different from synthetic ones? How does one go about explaining that paranormal phenomena are psychological in nature without tromping on people's toes?
Science is one area in our education where our culture finds it perfectly okay to be completely ignorant. Part of this is our focus on faith, and part is our complete and total reluctance to teach "what science is" in classrooms. But that's not all, and I am tempted to call the other part sheer laziness, though I know that's cynical.
Part of the problem is that science is intimidating, and you need to keep up with it in order not to look like a total asshat. And science is hard. It involves math, usually, and not the kind of math you can easily master. The kind of math that someone can look at and say "well, you neglected this effect, so what appears to be a simple addition problem is now a twelfth-order differential equation." That's scary!
In our classrooms, we don't teach science. Not at the elementary and high school level. It wasn't till I got to college that I learned--indirectly--how to evaluate claims and determine if data is significant. The logical skepticism needed to throw out claims that pills will increase your penis/breast size or that "secret Swiss herbs" will help you lose weight is missing from our educational system.
So here's a poll. What do you, as educated and intelligent people, feel are some of the most misunderstood scientific issues today? Evolution is not a ladder, obviously. Organically derived medicines are not actually chemically different from synthetic ones? How does one go about explaining that paranormal phenomena are psychological in nature without tromping on people's toes?
07 May 2006
The Internet is for Porn
Dr. Cox on Scrubs (another one of those people who people look at me funny when I say is hot; a list that includes Steve Martin, Viggo Mortenson, and several fictional characters) once said that "if they took all the porn off the internet, there would only be one site left, and it would be called 'Bring Back the Porn!'"
And really, what are blogs and postsecret other than voyeuristic glimpses into other people's lives, something more intimate than most porn?
I am faced with a conundrum. I have realized that over the course of my internet exhibitionism I have become invested in the lives of people who do not know me. People I have never even met. I want to hear about their days, I like to know when things go well, and I crave their commentary on my life.
So when Santa writes about football, bouncing, and meeting a girl, my response is to give him the internet equivalent of a hug and tell him how wonderful that is, how great for him. And then I realize: one, Sean is not the kind of person I would feel comfortable hugging, because two, I don't know him at all. We've had class together. I've read a bunch of his work. We've even had a couple Cleveland nights together, meeting people and laughing for joy. If asked, I would say I don't know him at all, but I know him in the most essential elemental way someone can know another person, and he is a good man, and one I'm proud to know. But I don't know him.
The Internet is like this--we know all the important details, but if asked to make small talk we'd probably never be able to.
Is that a bad thing? Don't we need some people we don't know the dirty little everyday details about, like how N will get very angry if you clean her room for her? Don't we want some people that we know if we called on them for important things, they'd be there in a flash, but not to bother about the little things?
And really, what are blogs and postsecret other than voyeuristic glimpses into other people's lives, something more intimate than most porn?
I am faced with a conundrum. I have realized that over the course of my internet exhibitionism I have become invested in the lives of people who do not know me. People I have never even met. I want to hear about their days, I like to know when things go well, and I crave their commentary on my life.
So when Santa writes about football, bouncing, and meeting a girl, my response is to give him the internet equivalent of a hug and tell him how wonderful that is, how great for him. And then I realize: one, Sean is not the kind of person I would feel comfortable hugging, because two, I don't know him at all. We've had class together. I've read a bunch of his work. We've even had a couple Cleveland nights together, meeting people and laughing for joy. If asked, I would say I don't know him at all, but I know him in the most essential elemental way someone can know another person, and he is a good man, and one I'm proud to know. But I don't know him.
The Internet is like this--we know all the important details, but if asked to make small talk we'd probably never be able to.
Is that a bad thing? Don't we need some people we don't know the dirty little everyday details about, like how N will get very angry if you clean her room for her? Don't we want some people that we know if we called on them for important things, they'd be there in a flash, but not to bother about the little things?
06 May 2006
Glued to the Table
I have had, for a few years now, an on-and-off flirtation with the word and concept of grace. It started when I first heard the song "The Luckiest" by Ben Folds and was immensely disappointed that it wasn't about Lou Gehrig. His speech on his retirement is part of my layered definition of "grace."
But it's today, while doing research for that comic book paper I've been wanting to write, that I rekindled my love and admiration for Christopher Reeve. Good God, what a man. What an absolute class act, and what an inspiration for all of us: "So many of our dreams at first seem impossible, then they seem improbable, and then when we summon the will, they soon become inevitable."
Here is a comic that may have made me tear up a little bit. I'm a girl, don't laugh at me.
But it's today, while doing research for that comic book paper I've been wanting to write, that I rekindled my love and admiration for Christopher Reeve. Good God, what a man. What an absolute class act, and what an inspiration for all of us: "So many of our dreams at first seem impossible, then they seem improbable, and then when we summon the will, they soon become inevitable."
Here is a comic that may have made me tear up a little bit. I'm a girl, don't laugh at me.
05 May 2006
Life's Like an Hourglass
There's this girl I know. She broke up with her boyfriend over a month ago and spent most of the intervening time in suicidal depression. She's convinced that she is ugly, unlovable, stupid, (she's a graduate student in numerical relativity, which is something fiendishly difficult and involves a lot of computing and that's all I know) a failure at life, and will never have another relationship again.
Aside from the blatant stupidity of such an attitude--like it's going to get her anywhere to sit around and mope about how much her life sucks--she's very sure that her ex was the love of her life and there won't be another man for her.
This "love of your life" concept is one that has interested me for the past fifteen minutes or so. Movies use this all the time. It's the love of your life, therefore you get a free pass to be pathetic, idiotic, and irrational; because in the end as long as it ends happily it doesn't matter what you do to get there. Because it's the love of your life. Life isn't worth living without this person, or so the writers want us to believe.
Is it true? I know I don't believe in one love per person, that's just statistically silly. But if you lose the person you've loved the most, does it knock your life down a level? Will you never be as happy again?
I think "love of your life" is a relative term--for me, it's defined primarily by how much I've loved the person over what proportion of my life. And I feel I've finally hit a point--for the first time in about five years--where I don't have a love of my life. I'm not pining for anyone. I'm not dying to get to the future with anyone. I just...am.
I'm pretty cynical and/or practical about strictly romantic love, really. I think that s.r.love is a choice, that you can choose or otherwise to love a person, always. I don't think that s.r.love is all you need. I think you need a whole lot more than s.r.love; I think there are many, many things more important than s.r.love for a happy union.
I'm twenty-one years old, and I have a number of failed relationships behind me, three of which might have ended in marriage and one at least in a long-term commitment. Maybe I'm cynical. Maybe I'm shut off because I've been hurt too much and blah blah more cliches. For me, being swept off my feet by emotion only ends up with everyone reeling.
Edited so I don't seem quite so harsh: Of course it's reasonable to feel hopeless in the wake of a breakup. But this girl is putting up away messages that say "Well, I guess my life is over, he didn't love me enough to stay with me...etc" and worse, telling people who don't even know her these things...it's not just a feeling. It's her life philosophy at the moment. Which is why it irritates me so. I'm not advocating tough love on those recently out of a breakup if they're struggling along. It's her desire to sit and wallow and never get better that pisses me off.
Example: "Life without ________ is simply empty and meaningless. I lost the love of my life. I'm still wishing he'd come back to me."
Why is it necessary to let the rest of us know this?
Aside from the blatant stupidity of such an attitude--like it's going to get her anywhere to sit around and mope about how much her life sucks--she's very sure that her ex was the love of her life and there won't be another man for her.
This "love of your life" concept is one that has interested me for the past fifteen minutes or so. Movies use this all the time. It's the love of your life, therefore you get a free pass to be pathetic, idiotic, and irrational; because in the end as long as it ends happily it doesn't matter what you do to get there. Because it's the love of your life. Life isn't worth living without this person, or so the writers want us to believe.
Is it true? I know I don't believe in one love per person, that's just statistically silly. But if you lose the person you've loved the most, does it knock your life down a level? Will you never be as happy again?
I think "love of your life" is a relative term--for me, it's defined primarily by how much I've loved the person over what proportion of my life. And I feel I've finally hit a point--for the first time in about five years--where I don't have a love of my life. I'm not pining for anyone. I'm not dying to get to the future with anyone. I just...am.
I'm pretty cynical and/or practical about strictly romantic love, really. I think that s.r.love is a choice, that you can choose or otherwise to love a person, always. I don't think that s.r.love is all you need. I think you need a whole lot more than s.r.love; I think there are many, many things more important than s.r.love for a happy union.
I'm twenty-one years old, and I have a number of failed relationships behind me, three of which might have ended in marriage and one at least in a long-term commitment. Maybe I'm cynical. Maybe I'm shut off because I've been hurt too much and blah blah more cliches. For me, being swept off my feet by emotion only ends up with everyone reeling.
Edited so I don't seem quite so harsh: Of course it's reasonable to feel hopeless in the wake of a breakup. But this girl is putting up away messages that say "Well, I guess my life is over, he didn't love me enough to stay with me...etc" and worse, telling people who don't even know her these things...it's not just a feeling. It's her life philosophy at the moment. Which is why it irritates me so. I'm not advocating tough love on those recently out of a breakup if they're struggling along. It's her desire to sit and wallow and never get better that pisses me off.
Example: "Life without ________ is simply empty and meaningless. I lost the love of my life. I'm still wishing he'd come back to me."
Why is it necessary to let the rest of us know this?
04 May 2006
I Don't Look Good in White
Let's just start this entry off with a disclaimer. I don't dislike people who have weddings. That's nearly everyone who's married. I don't dislike attending weddings. I don't resent people for asking me to attend or be in weddings. It's an honor and I enjoy it.
But I swear to all that is holy that no matter how female, domestic, and girly I am I will never understand the desire for a big ploofly white dress, six attendants dressed in matching dresses, tuxes, a church full of family you don't necessarily like, and, oh, I don't know...candles and flowers and stuff. I don't get it.
In the first place, I am missing the wedding gene. I have never fantasized about my big day. I have never made lists of who I want to be my bridesmaids. In fact, I don't particularly care.
Which leads me to my second point, that to me, it's not the wedding that counts. It's the getting married that counts. I don't want a big day all about all the me my family and friends can handle. I want to get married. I want to say my vows with my husband and be married in front of my immediate family and closest friends.
I just...meh. Like some people really want pets and some people don't, I just really don't want a wedding. Nothing personal. But what is wrong with me? Every other girl and some guys get this!
But I swear to all that is holy that no matter how female, domestic, and girly I am I will never understand the desire for a big ploofly white dress, six attendants dressed in matching dresses, tuxes, a church full of family you don't necessarily like, and, oh, I don't know...candles and flowers and stuff. I don't get it.
In the first place, I am missing the wedding gene. I have never fantasized about my big day. I have never made lists of who I want to be my bridesmaids. In fact, I don't particularly care.
Which leads me to my second point, that to me, it's not the wedding that counts. It's the getting married that counts. I don't want a big day all about all the me my family and friends can handle. I want to get married. I want to say my vows with my husband and be married in front of my immediate family and closest friends.
I just...meh. Like some people really want pets and some people don't, I just really don't want a wedding. Nothing personal. But what is wrong with me? Every other girl and some guys get this!
03 May 2006
Finals
Today is probably going to be my highest-stress day for finals. What did I do today? Woke up at ten, studied, rewrote a paper that was supposed to be done yesterday but the prof hated it, studied some more, watched some Grey's Anatomy, went shopping, came home.
And why, why, why does no one make cute dresses anymore? All I want is a little floral sundress. Not white. Not fairy-princessy. Not black. Just a little, colorful sundress. Grrrr.
A couple more practice problems and another rewrite and I'm done for the night. Tomorrow's final will be my worst and the other paper I have to write is shorter and less stressful.
I love being a junior and taking easy classes!
And why, why, why does no one make cute dresses anymore? All I want is a little floral sundress. Not white. Not fairy-princessy. Not black. Just a little, colorful sundress. Grrrr.
A couple more practice problems and another rewrite and I'm done for the night. Tomorrow's final will be my worst and the other paper I have to write is shorter and less stressful.
I love being a junior and taking easy classes!
02 May 2006
On Dating
Once again I'm making the IM rounds of people who are on my buddy list because they amuse me. There's this one guy who is still moping because his ex dumped him three years ago (after he spent six years telling her he wasn't good enough for her--and he's surprised?) and is currently gloomy because no girls are knocking on his apartment door begging him to ask them out, literally.
This guy doesn't really care what the girl he dates does. As long as she's good looking and willing to put up with him and his infinite neuroses, he figures she's good enough and will trap her into marrying him. At the same time, no one is ever good enough, and he has a reason not to date any possibility that crosses his path.
For example: I am too much of a party girl for him. I cannot remember the last time I was drunk. The last time I drank was about a third of a bottle of Godiva liqueur last weekend to get myself psyched to wear a skirt which was far too short for me, but I was not drunk. (thank goodness for a liver refined by generations of Irish alcoholics) I take that back. I think the last time I was seriously drunk was last summer when I tried to finish a bottle of whisky for a friend. Thank goodness for N, who held my hair when I puked over the toilet for a while.
Some people just can't be pleased, I suppose.
This guy doesn't really care what the girl he dates does. As long as she's good looking and willing to put up with him and his infinite neuroses, he figures she's good enough and will trap her into marrying him. At the same time, no one is ever good enough, and he has a reason not to date any possibility that crosses his path.
For example: I am too much of a party girl for him. I cannot remember the last time I was drunk. The last time I drank was about a third of a bottle of Godiva liqueur last weekend to get myself psyched to wear a skirt which was far too short for me, but I was not drunk. (thank goodness for a liver refined by generations of Irish alcoholics) I take that back. I think the last time I was seriously drunk was last summer when I tried to finish a bottle of whisky for a friend. Thank goodness for N, who held my hair when I puked over the toilet for a while.
Some people just can't be pleased, I suppose.
01 May 2006
Under Pressure
Yesterday was full of unecessary drama. Not the kind that makes you want to shoot all the people you know, but the kind that makes you laugh and laugh at humanity and sometimes, your own stupidity.
R's younger brother was in town over the weekend for a party. While R did supervising-type stuff (regulating who got in and out), his younger brother amused himself by grabbing and grinding all over girls on the dance floor. Now, this is fine, but you have to understand:
He goes to a state university. At their parties, this is a perfectly normal way to introduce oneself. Case girls are usually a little more withdrawing--they like a little buffer time before the pelvises start hitting.
One of those girls was me--which is all well and good, I'll dance with him if he's bored, and he's a sweetie and a good dancer, but, um....not quite that grabby, thank you.
So the first bit of drama was a conversation between R and his brother, saying "hey, um...you did know that was my girlfriend's ass you were grabbing, right?" and the reply: "Oh, I thought I was pretty innocent with her." No harm, no foul.
During the afternoon, the fraternity brothers resumed their project of repainting the house, this time in the stairwell. One of the brothers got dizzy, said he'd just had an allergy shot and wanted to go lie down. Twenty minutes later, he was nowhere to be found. A search mounted, every room in the house was checked, his cell phone was in his room unattended, tensions were beginning to escalate--and then it turned out he'd gone out to dinner with another brother.
Yesterday evening R and I went to the Indians game. We left in the middle of the seventh inning, due to disgust at a) the Tribe and b) the drunken people surrounding us. To avoid the parking hassle, we'd taken the RTA (supporting Cleveland public transportation is always a good idea) but on the way home, we ran into some trouble. The train in front of us broke down, and we were stopped for about twenty minutes. No problem, right? Just sit there, chill a bit, and wait for the train to get going again, since there's nothing we can really do about it.
Some of our fellow passengers did not share our opinion. Two girls of probably about twelve or fourteen began setting up an unholy clamor as soon as the train stopped. There was shouting into cell phones. There was a ton of harassing the driver--who couldn't do a damn thing about it. There were many, many repititions of "OH MY FUCKING GOD/I'm gwine to have an episode, I am/This is how it always starts in the movies, we could be on here with a crazyperson" and other bits of pubescent girl wit.
Now, is it wrong to have laughed when one of these girls called her friend's house: "Girl, put your momma on the phone, it's amergency, for real! I'm not kidding, I gotta get out of here!" It was so obviously drama for drama's sake, and watching it happen and thinking about myself at that age and the high horse I would have gotten on made me laugh.
R's younger brother was in town over the weekend for a party. While R did supervising-type stuff (regulating who got in and out), his younger brother amused himself by grabbing and grinding all over girls on the dance floor. Now, this is fine, but you have to understand:
He goes to a state university. At their parties, this is a perfectly normal way to introduce oneself. Case girls are usually a little more withdrawing--they like a little buffer time before the pelvises start hitting.
One of those girls was me--which is all well and good, I'll dance with him if he's bored, and he's a sweetie and a good dancer, but, um....not quite that grabby, thank you.
So the first bit of drama was a conversation between R and his brother, saying "hey, um...you did know that was my girlfriend's ass you were grabbing, right?" and the reply: "Oh, I thought I was pretty innocent with her." No harm, no foul.
During the afternoon, the fraternity brothers resumed their project of repainting the house, this time in the stairwell. One of the brothers got dizzy, said he'd just had an allergy shot and wanted to go lie down. Twenty minutes later, he was nowhere to be found. A search mounted, every room in the house was checked, his cell phone was in his room unattended, tensions were beginning to escalate--and then it turned out he'd gone out to dinner with another brother.
Yesterday evening R and I went to the Indians game. We left in the middle of the seventh inning, due to disgust at a) the Tribe and b) the drunken people surrounding us. To avoid the parking hassle, we'd taken the RTA (supporting Cleveland public transportation is always a good idea) but on the way home, we ran into some trouble. The train in front of us broke down, and we were stopped for about twenty minutes. No problem, right? Just sit there, chill a bit, and wait for the train to get going again, since there's nothing we can really do about it.
Some of our fellow passengers did not share our opinion. Two girls of probably about twelve or fourteen began setting up an unholy clamor as soon as the train stopped. There was shouting into cell phones. There was a ton of harassing the driver--who couldn't do a damn thing about it. There were many, many repititions of "OH MY FUCKING GOD/I'm gwine to have an episode, I am/This is how it always starts in the movies, we could be on here with a crazyperson" and other bits of pubescent girl wit.
Now, is it wrong to have laughed when one of these girls called her friend's house: "Girl, put your momma on the phone, it's amergency, for real! I'm not kidding, I gotta get out of here!" It was so obviously drama for drama's sake, and watching it happen and thinking about myself at that age and the high horse I would have gotten on made me laugh.
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