four-footed fashion

One reason I haven't written anything is a while is because nothing particularly interesting has happened to me in a while. Unlike some who find fascination in the realm of the mundane, I find I need to go out into the world to get my thoughts churning. This summer, however, has been horrifically wet, disallowing any real meandering through NYC on my part. One thing I have come to realize, however, thanks to the rain, is one of my favorite aspects of a rainy days in New York City.

Tiny dogs in tiny rain coats.

It's maybe one of the most ridiculous things I've ever seen, yet it's a sight that I've taken for granted for most of my life. It's just that the sight of a chihuahua (a breed of dog I've now started referring to as “hot wings with four legs and a tail”) in a yellow slicker is so absurdly common here that this fact alone makes me wonder if we've all (forgive the cliché) gone to the dogs. Do dogs that tiny really need to be walked outside, anyway? And what if it starts to really pour? They could be swept away by a stream into a sewer grate! O, the canine horror!

tick... tick... tick...

As I wrote in an earlier post, my grandfather passed away in January. I asked if I could keep some of his things as keepsakes, specifically his pocket watches. As a hobby, he had been fixing watches for over 60 years. He had amassed tons of watch pieces, among them several pocket watches. I had always loved sneaking peaks at them when I said I was actually taking a nap and had asked that he fix one and give it to me as a graduation gift.

I didn't get to pick out the watches because I went straight back to school after the funeral, then over spring break I was really sick, so my dad just took every pocket watch he could find and put them in a bag then put that bag in my closet. I just found it and went through all the pieces. They're freakin' gorgeous. Curious, I wound one of them. It still ticks. The hands don't move and it needs a new glass face, but it works. I'm sure there's a metaphor in there or something about how my grandfather is still with me, or that time runs out or something, but I'm still trying to work that out.

My goal is to get most of the watches in working order. I think I'll start with the one that still ticks since what needs fixing is just superficial. It's Swiss; that's probably why it still works.

F8

I don't use you. Ever. So how is it you've come loose? It makes no logical sense. I thought that if any key were to go rogue it would be one I use all the time, one that's gotten worn down. Maybe a vowel or the letter N. But no. It was you, F8, that came apart from my key board. I appreciate that you snapped back into place after some effort, but really, let's keep these shenanigans to a minimum. Okay?

Live Long and Prosper (you sexy, sexy Nerd!)

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a total nerd. Like, WAY big nerd. Maybe because of this, I often get really excited when people come out of their nerd closets or I learn they too are exceptionally huge nerds.

Recent nerd out of the closet: Karl Urban.

In interviews about his role as Dr. Lenard “Bones” McCoy in the new Star Trek movie, he repeatedly revealed that he is a total nerd. Karl Urban is a Treker. I know! I was surprised and exhilarated to learn this, too. The world could use another hot nerd.

Life After (stupid) People

There is a new show on The History Channel that I absolutely can't stand. It's called Life After People. It's based off of a two hour special that aired last year that was pretty successful. I have to admit, I watched the special and a couple of the show's episodes because I like the ideas it explores. The show seeks to investigate how long the remains of human civilization will last without humans to preserve them and how human-made landscapes with morph over time. It examines how and why structures and materials deteriorate and decay. As Spock would so aptly put it, “Fascinating.”

My beef is with the show's tone.

The music, shots, narrator and graphics are meant to portray a world without humans as creepy. It seeks to unsettle its viewers with the idea that the elements are really far more powerful than anything humans can create. Okay, maybe it's just me, but I think that portraying nature as invading and sinister is just plain wrong. Get over it folks; the Earth was here before Us and it will be here after Us. Perhaps the most horrifying example of this show trying to scare people was in a segment about Hashima, Japan, an abandoned mining city that stands of an example of “life after people.” The showed a shot of a rusted jungle gym with the distorted sound of children laughing, as if the very souls of the children who used to play there still haunt it, as if Mother Nature killed them. (Note: The mining company actually relocated all the residents of Hashima, so those kids all went on living somewhere else in Japan. In fact, they even had one of the former residents, who grew up in Hashima, on the show.)

There's also the fact that some of the stuff they talk about on the show is obvious. Just in case you didn't know, without people to replace light bulbs and run power grids, Times Square will be dark! (cue spooky radio frequency sounds).

This show has successfully shown that nature is out to get Us. It's just another great example of how people can take a great idea, chew it up, digest it, and crap it onto television.

(4 years x $80 K) + grossest garment ever= dangly strands

As I’m now a college graduate I’ve now got a wealth of prestige and resources at my hands, or so I’ve been told. Most magnanimous and prestigious of all these resources has got to be my cap tassel. Before you graduate from college, your tassel hangs to the right. After you graduate, you flip it to the left. After take it off your cap, it can hang anywhere! Right now mine is hanging from my closet door. This little set of silk strands has a infinite number of uses and is, without a doubt the most valuable result of my four years of blood sweat and tears, not to mention about 80k in tuition. Here are only a few uses:

1. Cat toy
2. Rearview mirror ornament
3. Harujuko hair decoration
4. Permanently attach it to a hat you will actually wear
5. Tie it to a ceiling fan chain
6. Hang it on your porch to tell which way the wind is blowing
7. Use it as a tail on a very small kite
8. Tie it to a key you need to quickly identify (hey, it worked until the 18th century)
9. Use it to identify a high ranking officer in a military you’ve created
10. Use it to tie back a curtain
11. Cross pollinate flowers

The possibilities are ENDLESS!

Husband Material

I got the inspiration for this post from my friend's new blog, Husband Material. You should check it out.
Pictured above is my future husband, Atif. To protect his identity, I won't say which of those ruggedly attractive men is him. He had me at, “Snakes have TWO penises.” I think I won him over with my delectable Easter pasties, but he'd probably tell you it was my stunning beauty. It really doesn't matter.
We realized our future together when we met while both studying last spring abroad at the University of Bristol in England. That considered, our meeting was pretty miraculous; we could have gone about our entire life in the United States and never have known the other existed! What fortunate stars we have. I can't wait until we get to spend our golden years swapping strange animal facts, eating halal pizza and me teaching him to play the flute.
The best part of this whole marriage business? Islam. That's right, polygamy. That means that while Atif is off running some multinational corporation in China, I get two other co-wives to party it up with, help me raise the llamas on the farm, have awesome movie marathons and other such important things. We've discussed it and think that with low price of land in the areas surrounding San Fransisco, we'll probably settle down there, at least until California sinks into the Pacific. I'll update you when I and my co-wives start accepting applications for a fourth wife. You know, the one who'll actually have his kids and stuff.

The best way to spend a rainy evening

Last night I went to see Rebel Without a Cause as this artsy film house in town. I freakin' love that move. I even contemplated bringing my life-sized card board cut-out of James Dean and sitting him in the seat next to me, but it was raining.

My one disappointment from yesterday was simply that the projectionist started the reel too late. This was upsetting to me because the opening to the film is my favorite part. Rather than fading from black to the production company title then swelling into the orchestral, Hollywood theme, they started it about five measures into the score, completely ruining the overwhelming grandness of the opening. Other than that, it was great. It was fantastic seeing it on a big screen and in the company of other people. I went with a friend who had never seen it before and was delighted by the fact that she loved it. The whole thing was made even better by the fact that it was free with our student Ids, something we had been unaware of until we reached the ticket booth. Score!

Somewhat related, a friend of mine actually lives near the observatory from the movie. When I visit her, (at some point in the future), she's agreed to bring me there where (I only presume) we'll re-enact the knife fight and final scene of the movie and take tons of photos to document it. I can't wait!

Oh Darlin'

Today a screw fell out of my laptop. She's been slowly dying for the past year and as I get closer to graduation, I'm getting a little scared. It started last year with a general slow down of all processes. Right before Spring Break, though, all the hardware just started going to Hell. The panel of plastic below the key board, (where the heels of my palms usually rest), has little spider-web cracks along it's edge. Also, the right-hand hinge that connects the screen to the key board has already come detached once and is now predominantly has a piece of it that constantly sticks out. That was a particularly scary moment: for near to a minute I looked on in horror as my computer was close to being two pieces. Since then, the panel of plastic above the key board (where my speakers are) is entirely warped and I have to keep pressing it back into place. It always pops back out.
The thing is, the software, (with the exception of speed) is working fine. I just have to be sure not to say that out loud; the gremlins might hear me.
Hang in there, baby. As soon as I turn in all my work, you'll have a well deserved rest in technology-heaven.

Things found in books.

The other day while going through a book I'm using for research on my thesis, I found the stub of Robert Freucel's boarding pass for a Northwest flight going from Albuquerque to Denver. It was on the 18th of February at 8:30 AM, flight 396. I don't know who Robert Frucel is or what he was doing with the book I opened, but it's kind of fascinating that a piece of his life ended up in mine.
I realized that two years ago I left a bunch of ransom notes in a book that got returned to the library. My friends had left me after they took all of my shoes hostage and I returned the book, forgetting I had been using the notes as a book mark. I wonder who found them and what they thought of all the meticulously cut out magazine lettering arranged in cryptic phrases.

April Fool's!

I pulled one of the greatest pranks on my professor today. I changed his password to an on-line archive to “hornycentaur69” and gave him a picture puzzle to solve it. He was thoroughly amused and gave the puzzle to all of us in class to solve. What was great is that he was that I hadn't realized that I'd made the password the singular form of centaur, whereas the picture puzzle suggested it was plural. Oops! He never got into it. I'll be changing it back this evening.

Here's a copy of the letter I left in his office last night:

4/1/2009
12:00 AM
 
To the most esteemed Professor Rick Hamilton:
For the next 24 hours, your password to The Beazley Archive Online has been altered. Your temporary password can be decoded through the puzzle below. Best of luck!
 
With respect and admiration,
The April Fool's Fairy

Weekend Moments

I had two really wonderful moments over the weekend.
My Saturday moment occurred around 10:20pm. I was walking across campus to attend a party my friend was throwing. The night was beautiful; the air was crisp and cool, neither humid nor cold. Not to brag, but I looks so freakin' cool; I was wearing these jeans that make my legs look really good, a peach colored, lace top with sequins, topped off with my bamfy black jacket. The party, I expected, wouldn't be very well attended and the music would be mediocre, but I take what I can get; without expectations, you're never disappointed. I was just glad I had something to do on a Saturday night, that I'd be doing it with friends I rarely get to see and that I was going to look good doing it. Just when I felt on top of the world and super excited for this party, the song “Where is My Mind” by The Pixies started blasting from someone's dorm room. This song was so loud, it was as if the building itself were belting it. The song and it's disembodied blaring so perfectly illustrated the moment, capturing my mood indifferent satisfaction and contentment. Were I a smoker, I probably would have leaned against a tree and lit up.
My Sunday moment occurred around 6:10 pm. I had gotten back to my room from an early dinner with two friends I never get to eat with and had decided to watch Blue Velvet, a film I knew nothing about but had heard referenced so often, I decided it was worth watching if only to know what everyone was talking about. About 15 minutes into the movie, the clouds in the sky started rolling and billowing, like smoke out of some great celestial pipe. I had seen the storm approaching on my way back from dinner, the navy blue hue of the sky foreshadowing the thundering downpour that was sure to come. I paused the movie and leaned on my window sill, watching as the sky changed from navy to olive green then to a faded yellow. Then the rain came. There were only a few claps of thunder, more wind than anything, but the downpour was so devastatingly beautiful. As it got underway, I went back to watching my movie, paying more attention to the weather than the tv at points. The rain stopped within half an hour and I was a little sad. The movie was okay.

The eyes are the windshields to the soul

I think that a person's car is like an autobiographical symphony to the senses. Everyone I know who has a car manages to make their vehicle a tactile extension of themselves. Beginning with smell, one of the key senses of memory, the smell of a car really indicates a lot. I'm not talking about stink; that usually just means you need to clean your car, or something died inside it, or your brother was driving it. I'm talking about the smell that gets stamped onto the very illustration that is a caricature of your car. Two cars which come to mind is one that belongs to the only person who regularly reads this; her car smells distinctly of chocolate Lipsmakers lip balm. I don't even think she uses Lipsmakers, yet somehow this scent has become the strongest identifying feature of her car. The second car that comes to mind is the one I caught a lift to brunch in this morning. This Volkswagen smells deliciously of cigarettes. Now, I know the words “deliciously” and “cigarettes” shouldn't belong in the same sentence, but the scent is more than tobacco and poison set on fire. It's the scent of clove, tobacco and poison set on fire, all mixed with the scent that was already in her car (one that was a combination of moldy bread and clean laundry). It's magnificent.
Moving on to the actual items to be found in a person's car, they are so very telling. Even if a person's car is spotless, this still reveals a lot about where that person is in their life or in their month or in their week. The ratio of items on the floor to set ratio is worth noting. Patterns too should be paid attention to. Are there an inordinate number of coat hangers strewn about? Or maybe bags or cups from a store or eatery he or she likes to frequent. Books, magazines and foodstuffs are another good indicator. While riding in the deliciously cigarettey car this morning, I couldn't help but notice there was a case of root beer in the back seat. Seated next to it was a worn copy of The Princess Diaries. The book, not the movie. I pointed this out to my friend, to which she responded, “Yup. That's me. This is my car. You're in my world.” So true.

Like, Oh my GOD!

While, admittedly, I do have an altar ego who is a 14 year old boy named Frank and another who is a nameless 65 year old man, 33.3% of the time, I am such a total girl. High point of my day: buying a lovely white cotton dress in the campus center for $2! Not only does this combine two of my favorite things (pretty dresses and bargains), it also gives me something new to wear on May Day or Graduation. It's so flippin' cute; it's a foux wrap cut, with a collar and short sleeves. Very Ozzie and Harriet. I'm contemplating shortening it, but for now I'll look super 1950's domesticate. This girly mood continued at lunch, during which I spent about 25% of the time making eyes with this blond dude having lunch with his professor. They spent most of the time talking in Chinese, so I couldn't understand what they were saying, but every now and then he and I would glance at each other and share a momentary smile. :sigh: Spring is in the air.
I don't mind that the above bit makes me sound like I'm on feminine over-drive. It just acts as a bizarre counterpoint to my two other egos.

Blow me to Bermuda!

There is a librarian here who I’m certain is a wizard. I’m not kidding. It’s bad enough this school looks like Hogwarts, they don’t need to start hiring people engaged in the magical arts. Though, I must admit, they did hire him before be became a wizard, or at least, before he took on the appearance of one. The fellow has long white hair that hangs down to his shoulders, whisking about him as he walks. His facial hair, though, is very short, creating a sort of interesting contrast from the neck up. I can’t tell you how many times I come into the library to do work and end up just staring at this man as he sits behind the reference desk. I can’t quite call it stalking yet, because I haven’t been caught.
I always want to go to him with a research question, but I never actually have one when his shift is scheduled. Maybe I should just make one up. Really, though, I just want to ask him to teach me everything and anything he knows; he must know EVERYTHING. I wonder if he has a talking owl?

Universal Threads

There’s an odd satisfaction I get when I go into one of the public computer labs on campus, wiggle the mouse around to wake the screen, and discover that I was the last person to use said computer. For some reason, it makes the moment feel special, like the computer was waiting for me to return, that it was completely serendipitous that no one else used it in the 14 hours since I had last been there. It made me feel like I was meant to be right where I was in the world at that moment in time-space. This satisfaction was, of course, followed by extreme frustration as the computer then took close to 7 minutes to load. In all of 2 seconds I had decided this machine was a douche bag and needed to be destroyed.
It’s funny how quickly time-space, the very fabric of reality, can unravel.

"Stand up... just like that."*

I just came back from a comedy show in Philly. It felt great to get off campus and laugh my ass off for a good two hours. Okay, so it wasn't nonstop laughter. In fact it was far from it. One of my friends is writing her thesis on a couple of comedians in the Philly stand-up circuit and wants to interview audience members. Rather than trying to track down people at the shows she goes to, she invited me and a couple other friends to go down to The Helium down in Center City. Hot tip: Tuesday nights is free because it's Open Mic Night. There's a two item minimum per person, but none of us got anything and it didn't seem to bother anyone.
In stand-up, comedians either kill or die. There was some serious murder and suicide committed on that stage. The comedians that did the best jobs knew the audience; college aged, mostly female. The misogynist jokes and stories about kids didn't really go over well. One of the best acts of the evening was this 18-year-old kid. He got major points for using the work “apothecary” in his act. I think I'll be blowing off my work most Tuesday evenings from now on, provided someone will drive each time. This seems like one of the best deals in town.


*Luda

Ruminations on (fecal) matter

There's a particular revelation I had about myself recently that I thought was worthy of breaking my recent absence from posting. It's something I realized has changed since coming to college. When I first arrived here, I was extremely reserved. I'm still fairly reserved, but I've grown quite comfortable with myself in general. Specifically, I noticed that I now am able to take poop in the presence of others. No, not like right in front of someone, but in a public bathroom, if someone else is there, say washing their hands or also pooping, I am comfortable enough to do my business and not care what the other person is thinking. THIS IS HUGE! I can't imagine myself being anywhere near comfortable enough to poop in the presence of another. I guess I've really come into my own as a person. Or maybe pooped into my own personhood.

ACTION!

Do you ever get the feeling you’re in a movie? From time to time I have these outer body experiences where I can see myself and everything happening around me and think, “That’s just what happened in A Fish Called Wanda” or something to that effect. This always happens at parties or in the dinning hall, where the music playing often becomes illustrative of the moment. Then there are other times when I realize I’ve been conducting a very coherent narrative in my mind, something that might work nicely as a voice-over. There are also the great one-liners that seem to pop up in every-day conversation that make me think Seth Rogan has programed my conversation.

The genre I constantly feel I’m walking into is Horror. Not that anything particularly macabre or gruesome seems to be happening to or around me, but it always seems like I’m in those moments right before the psycho killer pops out and kills the unsuspecting type-cast victim. This usually happens when I’m in the bathroom late at night brushing my teeth. The building seems more creeky, the faucets more drippy, and the weather more windy. Call me crazy, but the shower stalls of a women’s college seems like just the right place for Michale Myers to be hiding with a butcher knife.

Here comes the sun

On certain sunny days I don’t like to wear sunglasses because I don’t like having any sort of separation or filtration between me and the beauty of the world. This is one of those days.

I don’t know what we’ve done to deserve this, but the weather has been absolutely spectacular the past few days. With the exception of a bit of rain in the next couple of days, the temperature is supposed to hold up all week! I was able to wear my shorts on my way to the gym this morning and I’ve only been wearing a jacket today! It’s particularly miraculous considering that last week we were covered by six inches of snow. We didn’t even have the hugely crappy, slushy melt down that usually follows such large snow fall. You know, I gotta say that I’m actually really appreciative of the totally crap weather we have in late January and early February; it makes days like today that much more wonderful and the transformation to spring all the more spectacular.

"...everybody hurts..."*

I have a couple sad thoughts on my mind at the moment, so I’ll get them out of the way now rather than bring them up later.

I’m home this weekend and find it difficult to sleep because of upstairs neighbors. Actually, it’s their dog.

There’s no sound more mournful than the howl of a dog. It doesn’t matter whether it’s young or old, it’s always the saddest thing you can ever remember hearing. The dog upstairs is an old cocker spaniel named Muffy. Around 8:30 or 9pm, the humans of the house leave and she starts crying. I guess she’s just lonely.

I saw my grandmother cry today for the first time. My grandfather, her husband of 55 years passed away at 1 o’clock this morning. That’s the reason I came home. I was prepared for his death, but I wasn’t prepared for her tears. In those 55 years, he was a pretty crappy husband to her, but after so long a time, I suppose she had gotten used to him. Now she’s scared to sleep in the apartment alone. I guess she’s just lonely.

*And few bands are sadder sounding than R.E.M.

Such a big "ta' do".

Something truly amazing happened today. I completed all but one thing on my To Do list. This is something that has never happened before, at least not with such a lofty list. I even had time to work on a fun art project during my.......... (wait for it)........... FREE TIME? I had kind of forgotten what free time actually was. Most of my free time ends up being used for mindless pursuits because I'm too tired and wound up to do anything I actually might enjoy and put some effort into. In terms of level of accomplishment, I' just as satisfied as if I completed my entire list today.

On top of all this, I even wrote out a To Do list for tomorrow, and it's looking promising. Two of the things on the list MUST get done, therefore they will, which means I'm already certain I'll complete two tasks tomorrow. I've even planned time to go to the gym. Then again, there's supposed to be a snow storm tonight, so we'll see what happens.

EXTRA! EXTRA!

As a favor to a friend and a further experiment in writing for an audience, I wrote an article for our college news paper on the concert I attended which inspired my previous rant. For a more complete look at my thought from the evening, I've put the unedited version below, (though I believe uncensored is a more appropriate term).
Enjoy!:

Friday night was my first visit to Swarthmore's Old Club. I came away from it with a mixed bag of feelings but, overall, had a really great time. The theme of the night seemed to be violins, as pointed out by Ra Ra Riot's lead vocal, Wes Miles. After the first opening band's fantastic fiddling fury, the second openers, The Money Notes were indeed money. Their folk-funk funk fusion, (if that even adequately captures their sound), provided the house with brilliant covers of classics like 'Lil Liza Jane and Poison Ivy and a  little Weezer thrown into the mix. Their original pieces had me and my friends breaking out into spontaneously choreographed dance, a sight rarely seen by Swarthmore students, as I overheard from a confused, rhythm impaired individual behind me. Additional attempts of stand-up were also appreciated by those of us who were sober.

Things took an unsavory turn in the set-up time between the end of The Money Notes' set and the start of Ra Ra Riot's. A gaggle of belligerently drunk chicks pushed and stumbled their way to the front of the stage beside me. From that moment until about twenty minutes into the headliners' set, I was jostled and pushed to front row, dead center, which would have been great if I didn't have to restrain myself from assaulting the people standing next to me. I felt like I was on the loosing side of the battle of Thermoplyae from that scene in 300 when the Spartans were pushing Persians off a cliff into the sea. In addition to moving about in a particularly elbowy fashion, they were completely fucking with the sound equipment at the foot of the stage which resulted in a noticable amount of feedback  as well as pissing off singer Miles and cellist Alexandra Lawn. Nearly getting burned in the face by a cigarette belonging to the chicks' tall friend, I decided it was time to get out of the fray and ash and fade to the back of the crowd. Later I had to face the obnoxious antics of moshers, but fortunately I found a place with like-minded individuals. (Side note: Sometimes you don't need to fight for your right to party. You just need to go with it and want to have fun. If it's still not fun, maybe you need to rethink your life or leave the joint.)

Once there, peacefully swaying with the people packed against me, I was actually able to enjoy Ra Ra Riot's performance. I also no longer needed to confront guitarist Milo Bonocci's' tight pants, (let's just say I now know he dresses to the left). The performance was a pure explosion of sound, a synesthesia inducing epic that left me wanting more by the end. There wasn't any time to think about the fact that I had never listened to their music before; I just absorbed as much of the furious melodies pelting me from the stage. There was only the music and we were all just ears. No, I was not high. I was perhaps the most conscious and aware that I've been in a while. Ra Ra Riot delivered, in every sense of the word, dealing nobly with the problems caused by drunk chicks and apologizing several times for having to cancel a previously scheduled performance at Swat. I left a fan of two bands I'd never heard before as well as a new and loyal patron of Old Club.

12 car pile up

A bit of a rant if you don't mind:

I'm currently (rather, perpetually) taking issue with liberal arts student at nocturnal social gatherings. I understand the concept of “study hard: party hard,” however, these people are are trying just a little too hard. Sometimes you don't need to fight for your right to party, especially when it's being handed to you on a silver platter. All that effort is just sad.

For example:
Folk-funk fusion bands do not require body surfing.

A further example:
Most bands are not made for moshing. (Warning: potentially racist comment ahead). White people, quit you goddamn'd inappropriate moshing to the proper genres of rock. I know all of you don't do this, White people, but to those that do, quit it. To those that don't, lead by example. Do not put up with the stupidity of others.

As a sub category of liberal arts students, the ones without any common sense really need a punch in the face.

For example:
If you're in an environment that mixes crowds and movement, (say, a moshing one), DO NOT light a cigarette. I was nearly stabbed in the face twice with the lit end of someone's cancer stick. But forget about my face; there was an inordinate amount of hair gel up in there. Talk about flammable. I doubt waving a stick of cinders at head level is a recipe for fire safety.

All right. I think it's out of my system.

Go back to your lives, citizens. Live another day and make merry.

T is for "Tabogon". I mean, "Tray."

I'm proud to say that I've been doing a pretty good job of keeping my resolutions. Ok, maybe not the posting one, but hey, I'm only human.

I've been especially good on the physical activity part of my resolution. Today I did it in the most wonderful way imaginable: Traying.

For those of you who don't know, traying is very similar to sledding, in fact, it's identical, except for the choice of equipment. When sledding, one uses a sled to glide smoothly down snow covered hills. When traying, one (temporarily) steals a tray from the dinning hall and slides, luge style, down a hill at an alarming rate, getting covered in snow, feeling every bump, and freezing most parts of your body. It is, to borrow the vernacular of a young Keanu Reeves, TOTALLY EXCELLENT! I can think of no better words to describe the feeling of racing down a hill with only your but actually sitting on top of your vehicle, your limbs either in the air or inches from the ground.

We worked our way up, from bunny slopes all the way to the smaller of the larger hills on campus, the slope that leads to the field hockey field. It was great because once you finished coming down the hill, there was a the whole 50 yards of flat space that you would continue flying across. It's the most terrifying and exhilarating experience all at the same time. At one point a did a spectacular 360 on my butt and kept going!

Let's Make a Deal!

If there's one thing I love, it's getting a great deal. If you didn't already know this after reading my lauding of the Tanger Outlet mall in Deer Park, Long Island, now you can be sure. As was the case today, I got my hair cut... for $4.50. In New York City.

I'll give you a moment to pick up your jaw from the floor.

Yes, by opting to get my hair cut at a beauty school instead of a salon I saved a crap ton of money. Normally, it would have cost me around $9, but because it was my first visit, I received a 50 percent discount! This great deal was found at Empire Beauty School on 34th street. The entrance to the joint is a little sketchy and there is a somewhat limited window of time to get your hair done (11 am- 2:30pm and 5pm-7pm on week days), plus it takes a little longer since a student will be cutting your hair, but if you have the time it is SO worth the price. This is my second time getting my hair cut at a school and I would highly recommend it to anyone.

On top of it, the woman who cut my hair gave me a few suggestions on how to recover my curls. Could boing-ing joy be in my future?

Puppies: The spice of life

Sometimes happiness is a walk on the beach and a puppy. That's exactly what happened yesterday. I spent part of the afternoon walking on the beach with a good friend. This walk followed an exceptionally long and fulfilling bout of Mortal Kombat vs. DC on her family's Xbox console. I now want to own an Xbox (up yours Wii!), but that's another story.

I had never been to the beach during the winter. It felt like an entirely new, alien landscape. The play of light off of the snow made the water seem more blue. There were tons more shells on the shore since there weren't any people collecting them as happens when it's warmer out. The snow crunched like the top of creme brule when you stepped on it. It was beautiful. The stroll was made all the more enjoyable when a 12 week old border collie appeared, trotting between us. She began to leap, joyfully, when she came upon us. We, naturally, began to pet her, only to hear the most extraordinary Scottish accent shout, “Don' letter jomp on yuh! Push 'er doun!” (Trans: Don't let her jump on you. Push her down.)

Turns out, he was really a nice architect who lived in the area and worked out of his house. Once we pushed her down, the dog, (Kayle was her name), pranced inquisitively at our side, looking up at us curiously from time to time and inspecting shells and sea weed along the way. That's when we learned she was 12 months old; terribly intelligent for her age. She was born of working stock in Vermont who still herd sheep.

She'll probably be a hard working dog like her parents.

Coincidence? I think not.

I made a wonderful inter-textual connection today! It goes as follows:

Last week, I started reading the graphic novel, Watchmen. It's pretty amazing in spite, if not because, of how depressing it is. Either way, I recommend it. Point is, on page 10 chapter 6, it is revealed that the initial motivation behind the vigilante Rorschach's career was the murder of a young girl, Kitty Genovese.

Here's the connection:

The film Boondock Saints begins with a priest's homely, honoring the death of one Kitty Genovese, on the one-year anniversary of her death. This event, though it doesn't actually take place in the movie, lays the foundation for what later is the motivation of the film's vigilantes, the McManus brothers, i.e. the Boondock Saints. The film poses on of the same questions as the comic: Who watches the watchmen? Who's right is it to administer justice.

Is it a coincidence that writer-director Troy Duffy unseen but ever present character shares her name with an identical character in More and Gibbons' Watchmen? I thought not. So, I did some google-ing. It didn't take much searching.

As it turns out, Kitty Genovese was a real person who was killed in 1964 under similar circumstances alluded to in both the comic and the movie, though the year and location of her death as well as her age are altered in Duffy's film while the comic almost certainly is referring to the exact same death. Now that my ear and eye are more aware of her presence and the symbolic nature of her murder, I think she'll be popping up everywhere, like a rare word you learn the meaning of for the first time.

There's just another addition to my random fact arsenal/ cult fandom encyclopedia.

They have yet to make a box that big

A while back I packed up a lot of my childhood memories and put them in a box at the back of the closet. Well, not exactly my memories, (those wouldn't fit in boxes), but many of the things that made them. In an attempt to reclaim some space in my ever shrinking room in my parents' house, I put a bunch of toys, keepsakes and VHS tapes that I or my parents couldn't part with into the depths of our downstairs closet. Several VHS classics, however, I left unpacked, knowing I would want to view them at some point in the not too distant future. These include some off-beat Disney classics, like The Great Mouse Detective and Robin Hood, as well as some standard classics, a la Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin.

Cut to earlier this week:

I was shocked to discover several of my friends had never seen The Pagemaster, an AMAZING movie that came out when we were kids. Knowing I had it on VHS, I went to my stash today to pull it out and place it with the things I'm taking back to school after break.

It wasn't there! Unknowingly, I packed it with the other things that are now trapped in the chasms of the closet. My only hope is that when we put the Christmas decorations away this weekend I might be able to locate the box their hidden in. The Forces that Be, grant me luck, because people really need to see this movie. I mean, it's quality.

The Mixed Up Files of Mr Philippe de Montebello

I spent most of my afternoon at the Metropolitan Museum of Art today. My main reason for going (besides that fact that it's cheap, warm and beautiful), was to see the current Philippe de Montebello exhibit; he's a renowned curator for the Met and the museum's current director. In thirty-one years, he has acquired over 80 thousand pieces for the museum. The exhibit puts together around 300 of those pieces. What's wonderful about it is that, other than appearing pleasing in their placement next to each other, the piece have no relationship to each other, what so ever.

Only in a few spots of the exhibit is there something that could be called a “theme,” with much of the start of it taken up by sketches and etchings, but for the most part 2nd century busts stand unapologetically beside 19th century oil paintings. Eclectic doesn't even begin to describe the variety in this exhibit; it's almost like The Breakfast Club took the form of an art exhibit. Things are arranged kind of how I imagine a personal collector might arrange art in their home. I guess that's how we're being asked to look at and appreciate the work of de Montebello; he could have easily been a personal collector, but he's shared his gifted knack of collection and his collector's eye with the museum and all of its visitors. It also makes the exhibit that much more personal; I felt like I was walking through the aesthetic section of de Montebello's mind. I don't even know the guy, so I have no way of verifying whether his acquisitions reflect his personal taste but hidden among the vast display, I found one small photo of him, de Montebello himself, taken in front of the Temple of Dendur in the Egyptian gallery. It seemed to reflect a sort of unassuming cheekiness, the exact personality I think would be drawn to all the items on display.

The January 5th Resolution

Whereas it's taken me five days to get my act together,
Whereas it's never too late to make a change,
Whereas there's always room for self improvement,

Be it resolved that I shall commit, (ooo there's a scary word), to the following 2009 New Year's Resolutions.

First, that I drink one cup of tea each day, though I must take a break every three days from caffeinated elixirs.

Second, that I enter HGTV's Dream Home Giveaway contest every day until February 19th, the contest's end. That sucker's gunna' get sold to pay off my college debt, (that is, assuming the housing market improves...).

Third, that I have at least twenty consecutive minutes of physical activity each day.

Fourth, that I make a concerted effort to write on this blog three times each week. It doesn't have to be long, I just have to do it.

Fifth, that I make a concerted effort to write in my personal journal as often as possible.

Sixth, that I make a concerted effort to show patience toward my parents. They can't help that they're getting old.

Seventh, that I make a concerted effort to stay in contact with people I don't get to see that often, if at all.

Eighth, that in July I will renew these resolutions, take note of my progress and, if possible, make some new resolutions. Who says you have to wait until January 1st to make resolutions. Refer to the second Whereas; it works the other way too, that is, it's never too soon to start making change.

* The above is an oil painting of the sloop, the HMS Resolution, captained by James Cook during his 2nd and 3rd journeys across the Pacific.