Thursday, May 01, 2008
I got 99 problems, but a thesis ain't one
Singing along to: Cat Stevens, How Can I Tell You?
Or rather, a thesis is one, sort of, but the problem isn't that I can't think of a topic. It's that I can think of too many.
I don't have to decide on a subject now, but I have several friends who already know what they're writing about, and their topics are uniformly cool. I'm jealous of them. Also, I think I'd feel better about starting a forty-odd-page paper in a couple months if I knew what I wanted to write on. Like most other aspects of the medieval studies department here, the thesis guidelines are fluid. According to my adviser, the only rule is that it has to be multi-disciplinary. No problem: at this point, I don't think I could approach history any other way, because I really don't believe you can separate the art from the literature from the politics from the religion. Not in the Middle Ages, anyway.
This free rein is frequently delightful (distribution requirements within majors is something for those silly history and English majors to worry about, not me), but in this case it's also stifling: so many choices, so little time! Plus, the subject that I'm especially interested in, rare books and manuscripts, is not really an option, probably. I have neither the skills (paleography, adequate Latin) nor the resources to tackle something that awesome for my undergraduate thesis. (But don't worry, I intend to spend graduate school--and then hopefully the rest of my life--getting much better acquainted with really old books.)
So I did what I always do in situations like this: I made a list of other topics that interest me. It's a long list. I also made a list of topics that do not interest me, in hopes that it might narrow things down a bit. It helped, but only a little bit. (That list basically consists of theology/philosophy (except for monasticism), Bede, and anything to do with Italy.)
I stared at those lists for awhile, and thought, well, maybe something on England, pre-1066. I really liked that book on Alfred the Great I read last semester, and he's both really cool (like Charlemagne, but English) and late enough to keep me safely away from Bede. Can't think of anything more specific offhand, but maybe if I do more reading something will come to me. Maybe.
Then I read Chaucer's Troilus & Criseyde for class, and, thought hmm, maybe I could write something on female sovereignty in medieval romances, which have done some interesting things with gender roles. Not exactly original, but this is an undergraduate thesis we're talking about here. "Groundbreaking" is not a requirement. Besides, it plays into my interest in gender, social history, and literature. (Also, "sovereignty" is an impressive-sounding word. I would feel smarter just having that on my cover page.)
Then I started writing a paper on the use of setting in Troilus, and thought, whoa damn, I could do a lot with this too, by expanding it to a discussion of the use of classical themes and settings in medieval art and literature. (Actually, that was the original topic for the current paper, but I quickly realized that it is way too big of a topic for a 5-7 page paper.) So I started getting excited about writing a thesis on that multidisciplinary mess, which happens to tie in three of my other favorite things: art, literature, and political power/rhetoric. (I have a lot of favorite things. That may be the source of my problems.)
Actually, it seems that my indecision is not limited to my thesis. Right now I'm in the midst of writing a paper, due tomorrow, whose topic I switched last night. I spent a long time debating the pros and cons of asking the professor about this (potentially a wise move, given that I turned in an abstract two weeks ago with proposed topic #1), but I decided in the end to follow this piece of sage advice, learned from my father: It's easier to get forgiveness than permission. And, after all, my topic has not changed so drastically. I'm still writing about the Bayeux Tapestry, I'm just considering it in a different light. A light that is much, much easier to write about and research. That's totally kosher, right?
Yeah, I hope so.
Or rather, a thesis is one, sort of, but the problem isn't that I can't think of a topic. It's that I can think of too many.
I don't have to decide on a subject now, but I have several friends who already know what they're writing about, and their topics are uniformly cool. I'm jealous of them. Also, I think I'd feel better about starting a forty-odd-page paper in a couple months if I knew what I wanted to write on. Like most other aspects of the medieval studies department here, the thesis guidelines are fluid. According to my adviser, the only rule is that it has to be multi-disciplinary. No problem: at this point, I don't think I could approach history any other way, because I really don't believe you can separate the art from the literature from the politics from the religion. Not in the Middle Ages, anyway.
This free rein is frequently delightful (distribution requirements within majors is something for those silly history and English majors to worry about, not me), but in this case it's also stifling: so many choices, so little time! Plus, the subject that I'm especially interested in, rare books and manuscripts, is not really an option, probably. I have neither the skills (paleography, adequate Latin) nor the resources to tackle something that awesome for my undergraduate thesis. (But don't worry, I intend to spend graduate school--and then hopefully the rest of my life--getting much better acquainted with really old books.)
So I did what I always do in situations like this: I made a list of other topics that interest me. It's a long list. I also made a list of topics that do not interest me, in hopes that it might narrow things down a bit. It helped, but only a little bit. (That list basically consists of theology/philosophy (except for monasticism), Bede, and anything to do with Italy.)
I stared at those lists for awhile, and thought, well, maybe something on England, pre-1066. I really liked that book on Alfred the Great I read last semester, and he's both really cool (like Charlemagne, but English) and late enough to keep me safely away from Bede. Can't think of anything more specific offhand, but maybe if I do more reading something will come to me. Maybe.
Then I read Chaucer's Troilus & Criseyde for class, and, thought hmm, maybe I could write something on female sovereignty in medieval romances, which have done some interesting things with gender roles. Not exactly original, but this is an undergraduate thesis we're talking about here. "Groundbreaking" is not a requirement. Besides, it plays into my interest in gender, social history, and literature. (Also, "sovereignty" is an impressive-sounding word. I would feel smarter just having that on my cover page.)
Then I started writing a paper on the use of setting in Troilus, and thought, whoa damn, I could do a lot with this too, by expanding it to a discussion of the use of classical themes and settings in medieval art and literature. (Actually, that was the original topic for the current paper, but I quickly realized that it is way too big of a topic for a 5-7 page paper.) So I started getting excited about writing a thesis on that multidisciplinary mess, which happens to tie in three of my other favorite things: art, literature, and political power/rhetoric. (I have a lot of favorite things. That may be the source of my problems.)
Actually, it seems that my indecision is not limited to my thesis. Right now I'm in the midst of writing a paper, due tomorrow, whose topic I switched last night. I spent a long time debating the pros and cons of asking the professor about this (potentially a wise move, given that I turned in an abstract two weeks ago with proposed topic #1), but I decided in the end to follow this piece of sage advice, learned from my father: It's easier to get forgiveness than permission. And, after all, my topic has not changed so drastically. I'm still writing about the Bayeux Tapestry, I'm just considering it in a different light. A light that is much, much easier to write about and research. That's totally kosher, right?
Yeah, I hope so.
Labels: College
Friday, April 25, 2008
Pope Fest 2008
Singing along to: Simon & Garfunkel, Blessed
A week ago yesterday, I stood on the lawn outside the student center, waving my tiny white and gold flag in one hand, raising my camera in the other, and cheering Pope Benedict XVI as he entered the building to deliver his address on Catholic education. It was an interesting speech, especially since I am a product of Catholic education from my first day of preschool until now. Almost more exciting than the speech itself, however, was the fact that he was delivering it on our campus, while bishops and university presidents from all over the country sat in the audience, and we watched it simulcast on a huge projection screen on the lawn.
After the address was over, he left the Pryz in the pope mobile and we cheered and snapped pictures and waved our flags and signs some more. They told us that Regina Caeli is one of his favorite songs, so we sang it, off-key, out of sync, and in stumbling Latin, but still: how often do you get the chance to sing anything for the Pope as he rides through your campus?
I mentioned the Westboro Baptists in my last post about the Pope's visit, and I'm happy to say they were a complete non-factor in the day. The Secret Service kept them far away from anywhere they would see the Pope, and while a few of them camped outside Nationals Stadium to helpfully remind us all of our impending damnation, a friend who was at that Mass said that no one gave them a second glance. I believe in peaceful protest and counter-protest, but maybe in this case, peacefully walking right by was the best option of all.
(Although, a point of interest relating to the comments on that post: “God is love” actually comes from the first letter of John (4:16) and that is the phrase with which the Holy Father opened his encyclical Deus Caritas Est, which is Latin for the same.)
A week ago yesterday, I stood on the lawn outside the student center, waving my tiny white and gold flag in one hand, raising my camera in the other, and cheering Pope Benedict XVI as he entered the building to deliver his address on Catholic education. It was an interesting speech, especially since I am a product of Catholic education from my first day of preschool until now. Almost more exciting than the speech itself, however, was the fact that he was delivering it on our campus, while bishops and university presidents from all over the country sat in the audience, and we watched it simulcast on a huge projection screen on the lawn.
After the address was over, he left the Pryz in the pope mobile and we cheered and snapped pictures and waved our flags and signs some more. They told us that Regina Caeli is one of his favorite songs, so we sang it, off-key, out of sync, and in stumbling Latin, but still: how often do you get the chance to sing anything for the Pope as he rides through your campus?
I mentioned the Westboro Baptists in my last post about the Pope's visit, and I'm happy to say they were a complete non-factor in the day. The Secret Service kept them far away from anywhere they would see the Pope, and while a few of them camped outside Nationals Stadium to helpfully remind us all of our impending damnation, a friend who was at that Mass said that no one gave them a second glance. I believe in peaceful protest and counter-protest, but maybe in this case, peacefully walking right by was the best option of all.
(Although, a point of interest relating to the comments on that post: “God is love” actually comes from the first letter of John (4:16) and that is the phrase with which the Holy Father opened his encyclical Deus Caritas Est, which is Latin for the same.)
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Adventures in being Catholic
Singing along to: Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova, Falling Slowly
As you've probably heard, Pope Benedict XVI is coming to the Nation's Capital in April. More specifically, he's coming to the Catholic University of America and the chapel next door. As a result, the campus is getting a makeover the likes of which it probably hasn't seen in, well, ever. Flower beds are being mulched, roads are being repaved, sidewalks are being put in where before we just walked in the street and tried not to get hit by the campus shuttle. They even redecorated the student center, where the pope will be addressing the nation's Catholic educators, apparently under the assumption that the pope really digs an Ikea-in-the-1970s decorative scheme. And hey, maybe he does. All the Renaissance art in the Vatican has to get old, right?
I wouldn't be surprised if they start rounding up the scruffier students and "treating" them to haircuts, shaves, and freshly-pressed button-down shirts. After all, we have to look presentable for our (inter)national television audience while we sing "Happy Birthday, Pope Benedict" or whatever it is we'll be doing.
Of course, for every good visitor there will be a bad visitor, which is why Washington, DC will also be playing host to everyone's favorite funeral crashers, the Westboro Baptists. They're equal-opportunity haters, it seems: gay people and Catholics, oh my. (I wonder how they feel about gay Catholics?) There are a number of students, including myself, who are planning a counter-protest. Because, sorry, you don't get to come to our city, insult our Holy Father, and slander our religion without us having something (Christian, peace-filled, and dignified) to say about it.
Anyone have any suggestions for a pithy but appropriate slogan for my sign? I'm hoping for something Biblical, since they're (ostensibly) Protestants--sola scriptora and all that. Or maybe I'll just go with "I [heart] the Pope." Can't go wrong with that.
As you've probably heard, Pope Benedict XVI is coming to the Nation's Capital in April. More specifically, he's coming to the Catholic University of America and the chapel next door. As a result, the campus is getting a makeover the likes of which it probably hasn't seen in, well, ever. Flower beds are being mulched, roads are being repaved, sidewalks are being put in where before we just walked in the street and tried not to get hit by the campus shuttle. They even redecorated the student center, where the pope will be addressing the nation's Catholic educators, apparently under the assumption that the pope really digs an Ikea-in-the-1970s decorative scheme. And hey, maybe he does. All the Renaissance art in the Vatican has to get old, right?
I wouldn't be surprised if they start rounding up the scruffier students and "treating" them to haircuts, shaves, and freshly-pressed button-down shirts. After all, we have to look presentable for our (inter)national television audience while we sing "Happy Birthday, Pope Benedict" or whatever it is we'll be doing.
Of course, for every good visitor there will be a bad visitor, which is why Washington, DC will also be playing host to everyone's favorite funeral crashers, the Westboro Baptists. They're equal-opportunity haters, it seems: gay people and Catholics, oh my. (I wonder how they feel about gay Catholics?) There are a number of students, including myself, who are planning a counter-protest. Because, sorry, you don't get to come to our city, insult our Holy Father, and slander our religion without us having something (Christian, peace-filled, and dignified) to say about it.
Anyone have any suggestions for a pithy but appropriate slogan for my sign? I'm hoping for something Biblical, since they're (ostensibly) Protestants--sola scriptora and all that. Or maybe I'll just go with "I [heart] the Pope." Can't go wrong with that.
Labels: College
Monday, February 25, 2008
A special kind of hell
Singing along to: Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova, Lies
I'm sorry I haven't updated in a very long time, but I've spent the past few days drowning in the crap-filled swimming pool that is ROOM SELECTION MMVIII. (Yes, that's really what they've been calling it. It's like the Super Bowl of housing events! Except not.)
My lottery number, revealed on Thursday afternoon, is 376, and the lowest number in my housing "group" is in the high two hundreds. In other words, we haven't a chance. Probably. I could detail the various dead ends and false hopes we've chased over the past few days, but that would take a much longer post than I feel like writing, and besides, I'm tired of rehashing it all. In my mind, it feels like a very complicated situation, but in fact it isn't, at least not once I boil it down to its essential elements, which are as follows: SO. FREAKING. SCREWED.
We are considering our off-campus options as well as our (so limited as to be almost non-existent) on campus options, and the whole situation has me so stressed that I've moved beyond "hyper, flipping-out stressed" into "dead on the inside, just can't care anymore stressed."
People keep telling me that everything will work out in the end, and I know that's true (after all, we'll be living somewhere, even if it's just a cardboard box outside the Metro, even if it's back at home). Really, I know it's true. But I just wish that we could jump ahead to the part where it's all worked out, and skip all the parts in between, like the awkward interview with someone who might consent to let us live with her (don't get me started on that situation), or the endless calculations of rent and utilities and crap we'd have to buy furniture, or the eternal string of what-ifs. (What if that girl only wants one of us to be her roommate? What if we can't get an apartment at complex A? What if we can't switch in to the other lottery? What if we can?)
I know Click was a terrible movie, but it made one good point: life really needs a fast-forward button.
I'm sorry I haven't updated in a very long time, but I've spent the past few days drowning in the crap-filled swimming pool that is ROOM SELECTION MMVIII. (Yes, that's really what they've been calling it. It's like the Super Bowl of housing events! Except not.)
My lottery number, revealed on Thursday afternoon, is 376, and the lowest number in my housing "group" is in the high two hundreds. In other words, we haven't a chance. Probably. I could detail the various dead ends and false hopes we've chased over the past few days, but that would take a much longer post than I feel like writing, and besides, I'm tired of rehashing it all. In my mind, it feels like a very complicated situation, but in fact it isn't, at least not once I boil it down to its essential elements, which are as follows: SO. FREAKING. SCREWED.
We are considering our off-campus options as well as our (so limited as to be almost non-existent) on campus options, and the whole situation has me so stressed that I've moved beyond "hyper, flipping-out stressed" into "dead on the inside, just can't care anymore stressed."
People keep telling me that everything will work out in the end, and I know that's true (after all, we'll be living somewhere, even if it's just a cardboard box outside the Metro, even if it's back at home). Really, I know it's true. But I just wish that we could jump ahead to the part where it's all worked out, and skip all the parts in between, like the awkward interview with someone who might consent to let us live with her (don't get me started on that situation), or the endless calculations of rent and utilities and crap we'd have to buy furniture, or the eternal string of what-ifs. (What if that girl only wants one of us to be her roommate? What if we can't get an apartment at complex A? What if we can't switch in to the other lottery? What if we can?)
I know Click was a terrible movie, but it made one good point: life really needs a fast-forward button.
Labels: College
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Things I Really Loathe: an abbreviated list
Singing along to: grouchy late-night silence
I'm sorry to go all Debbie-Downer* on you, but it is 2:10 in the AM and I'm still at work. Come on, suffer along with me as I list the Things I Hate Right Now:
Thank you, and good night. (Except that it's not a good night, not yet, because I still have forty minutes of work left.)
*Actually, I'm not sorry. And did I just say "Debbie Downer"? Ew.
I'm sorry to go all Debbie-Downer* on you, but it is 2:10 in the AM and I'm still at work. Come on, suffer along with me as I list the Things I Hate Right Now:
- Rhinestones, and everything they embellish.
- People who can't be bothered to take their key cards with them when they go to have a smoke, and instead rely on me, sitting at the desk near the door, to let them back in. I know getting up to open the door is a small thing, but so is taking your damn key card outside with you.
- The fact that two of my dorm's four dryers are broken, not that it matters anyway since I've lost my dryer sheets.
- The 2008 presidential campaign and everyone in it. I haven't even voted in the primary yet, and I'm already sick of these people.
- The little clicking noise that the button on my laptop's touchpad mouse makes. I drive myself crazy with it when I don't have a real mouse with me.
- Yahoo! Small Business, who wants me to pay for my domain name but won't actually let me pay for it because they keep having "system errors" or something every time I try to pay. Do they want my money or not?
- Professors who mention something about the Middle Ages or ancient Rome and then feel compelled to add "You know, back then, they didn't have electricity and the Internet" as they make their point. YES, PROFESSOR, WE KNOW. There are probably college students somewhere who do not know that, but can you please assume that if we're all upperclassmen in your 300-level class, we know that the Internet was a recent invention?
Thank you, and good night. (Except that it's not a good night, not yet, because I still have forty minutes of work left.)
*Actually, I'm not sorry. And did I just say "Debbie Downer"? Ew.
Monday, February 04, 2008
For pete's sake
Singing along to: Iron & Wine and Calexico, History of Lovers
It should not be this hard to calculate my GPA for my major/minor.
AND YET IT IS.
It's not even the math that's getting in my way, because I haven't even gotten that far yet. I'm still stuck on trying to find the number equivalents (4.0, 3.5, etc) of the letter grades that I'm given at the end of every semester. I know that I have seen this little conversion chart somewhere in all the university literature that I've waded through, but damned if I can find it now.
(After consulting Googlepedia, I've decided to just use this handy chart from the University of Wisconsin-Stout, although it may or may not be the same as the numbers CUA uses. AT LEAST IT'S SOMETHING.)
As I suspected. My GPA in my major/minor is higher than my general GPA. Time to update the resume!
It should not be this hard to calculate my GPA for my major/minor.
AND YET IT IS.
It's not even the math that's getting in my way, because I haven't even gotten that far yet. I'm still stuck on trying to find the number equivalents (4.0, 3.5, etc) of the letter grades that I'm given at the end of every semester. I know that I have seen this little conversion chart somewhere in all the university literature that I've waded through, but damned if I can find it now.
(After consulting Googlepedia, I've decided to just use this handy chart from the University of Wisconsin-Stout, although it may or may not be the same as the numbers CUA uses. AT LEAST IT'S SOMETHING.)
As I suspected. My GPA in my major/minor is higher than my general GPA. Time to update the resume!
Labels: College
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Please don't say you told me so
Singing along to: Dolorean, To Destruction
I have spent many years of my life vehemently asserting a number of truths. Peaches are gross. Monkeys are ugly. MySpace is for annoying fourteen year olds. Josh Groban is proof that the devil is at work in the world. Nothing is sacred to Hollywood.
But mostly, I have spent a lot of oxygen swearing up, down, right, and left that I will. not. become a librarian, the evidence of my bookshelves be damned.
Then I started breaking down on a number of things. A couple months ago, I got a MySpace. I would try to defend myself, but really, there is no defense. (And no, sorry, I don't want to be your MySpace friend, because maybe if I pretend it's not there I'll get my dignity back.) Then, I went to see Beowulf in theaters. No excuse for that one, either, although at least I didn't pay for it.
I should have taken these events for what truly were: vivid signs of my own personal apocalypse, which came to its bitter fruition yesterday evening.
I looked at library science graduate programs.
I began to picture myself as a librarian.
It didn't even make me cry.
I don't, at this point, remember what terrible impulse led me to it. (Probably boredom. Idle hands do the devil's work.) But by the end of the evening, I was taking a hard look at the career trajectory on which I'd previously seen myself. I still want to work in museums, but I have never been sure in what capacity. And when, for whatever reason, I clicked on Catholic's school of library science website, and saw some of the course offerings, I had my own eureka moment. Except it was more like a duh moment.
Not all librarians are public librarians. Universities have libraries, of course, but so do a lot of museums. Libraries, archives, special collections, rare books and manuscripts. I think I could be happy with that.
Of course, I haven't decided anything yet, and Georgetown's museum studies/art history program still looks oh-so-good, but... this new idea feels oddly right. And "right" is something that I haven't quite felt about the future in a long time. I think that might be one of the reasons I never applied for any internships for this year. I had no certainty, and I was terrified of settling myself into a groove, only to discover that it was the wrong groove. I'm still not certain about anything, but I think I may have found the right groove.
Time to give those internships another look.
I have spent many years of my life vehemently asserting a number of truths. Peaches are gross. Monkeys are ugly. MySpace is for annoying fourteen year olds. Josh Groban is proof that the devil is at work in the world. Nothing is sacred to Hollywood.
But mostly, I have spent a lot of oxygen swearing up, down, right, and left that I will. not. become a librarian, the evidence of my bookshelves be damned.
Then I started breaking down on a number of things. A couple months ago, I got a MySpace. I would try to defend myself, but really, there is no defense. (And no, sorry, I don't want to be your MySpace friend, because maybe if I pretend it's not there I'll get my dignity back.) Then, I went to see Beowulf in theaters. No excuse for that one, either, although at least I didn't pay for it.
I should have taken these events for what truly were: vivid signs of my own personal apocalypse, which came to its bitter fruition yesterday evening.
I looked at library science graduate programs.
I began to picture myself as a librarian.
It didn't even make me cry.
I don't, at this point, remember what terrible impulse led me to it. (Probably boredom. Idle hands do the devil's work.) But by the end of the evening, I was taking a hard look at the career trajectory on which I'd previously seen myself. I still want to work in museums, but I have never been sure in what capacity. And when, for whatever reason, I clicked on Catholic's school of library science website, and saw some of the course offerings, I had my own eureka moment. Except it was more like a duh moment.
Not all librarians are public librarians. Universities have libraries, of course, but so do a lot of museums. Libraries, archives, special collections, rare books and manuscripts. I think I could be happy with that.
Of course, I haven't decided anything yet, and Georgetown's museum studies/art history program still looks oh-so-good, but... this new idea feels oddly right. And "right" is something that I haven't quite felt about the future in a long time. I think that might be one of the reasons I never applied for any internships for this year. I had no certainty, and I was terrified of settling myself into a groove, only to discover that it was the wrong groove. I'm still not certain about anything, but I think I may have found the right groove.
Time to give those internships another look.
Labels: College
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Notes & Asides
Singing along to: the Postal Service, Be Still My Heart
I try not to complain too much about things like the food and the housekeeping, etc, at college, because I really hate sounding like the spoiled suburban girl I (sometimes) am. But is it too much to ask that there be toilet paper in the bathrooms? It's been days now...
***
Three years ago, I was not a shoe person. Now, I am a shoe person. Holy crap, I am a shoe person. I can trace this terrible development back to a specific pair of black peep-toe heels from Target my freshman year, which I love even though they hurt me. It's an abusive relationship, I tell you. Currently, I am torn between these wedges from Old Navy and these deliciously retro-looking shoes from Target. Well, at least I don't have expensive taste in shoes. (And handbags? Handbags I could take or leave.)
***
I am very ISTJ (emphasis on the I, for introverted), but Hermione was never really my favorite. (Quiz from the Caffeinated Librarian.)
***
Further proof that I need this break: Yesterday, I put my underwear on inside out. And it took me all day to notice it.
***
For the past week and a half, the dorm has been an ever-changing parade of olfactory delights, mostly because of The Event of Semester. First there was the lingering odor of smoke, then the smell of damp carpeting, then fresh paint, and now some sort of hybrid stink that I can't quite identify, but which seems to contain notes of all of the above. I just hope they replace the carpeting early in the break, so there's plenty of time for the new carpet stink to air out.
I try not to complain too much about things like the food and the housekeeping, etc, at college, because I really hate sounding like the spoiled suburban girl I (sometimes) am. But is it too much to ask that there be toilet paper in the bathrooms? It's been days now...
***
Three years ago, I was not a shoe person. Now, I am a shoe person. Holy crap, I am a shoe person. I can trace this terrible development back to a specific pair of black peep-toe heels from Target my freshman year, which I love even though they hurt me. It's an abusive relationship, I tell you. Currently, I am torn between these wedges from Old Navy and these deliciously retro-looking shoes from Target. Well, at least I don't have expensive taste in shoes. (And handbags? Handbags I could take or leave.)
***
I am very ISTJ (emphasis on the I, for introverted), but Hermione was never really my favorite. (Quiz from the Caffeinated Librarian.)
Harry Potter Personality Quiz by Pirate Monkeys Inc.
***
Further proof that I need this break: Yesterday, I put my underwear on inside out. And it took me all day to notice it.
***
For the past week and a half, the dorm has been an ever-changing parade of olfactory delights, mostly because of The Event of Semester. First there was the lingering odor of smoke, then the smell of damp carpeting, then fresh paint, and now some sort of hybrid stink that I can't quite identify, but which seems to contain notes of all of the above. I just hope they replace the carpeting early in the break, so there's plenty of time for the new carpet stink to air out.
Labels: College, Notes and Asides
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Why I really should not study late at night
Singing along to: Iron & Wine, Cinder and Smoke
...because my art history flashcards start out including intelligent comments about classical influences and the divisions of architectural space, and end up describing things as "really, really big" and referencing "lots of Gothic pointy bits."
Also, do you know how many images I have to know for my art history exam on Thursday? No? Let me tell you: EIGHTY-ONE IMAGES. That might not sound like a lot, but it actually IS, because not only do we have to be familiar with the image itself, but we also have to the know the artist/architect(s) (where applicable), its dates (within five years), the medium, the location, and whether this particular relief is on the left jamb of the south transept of the cathedral, or on the topmost register of the north wall of the nave of the chapel. That is a lot of information. I am not very good at memorization, hence the flashcards.
Did I mention I also have a paper to write for Thursday? And that I have to pack still? And that I still have forty-five minutes left of work, and I'm really, really tired? Because all of that is true, too.
...because my art history flashcards start out including intelligent comments about classical influences and the divisions of architectural space, and end up describing things as "really, really big" and referencing "lots of Gothic pointy bits."
Also, do you know how many images I have to know for my art history exam on Thursday? No? Let me tell you: EIGHTY-ONE IMAGES. That might not sound like a lot, but it actually IS, because not only do we have to be familiar with the image itself, but we also have to the know the artist/architect(s) (where applicable), its dates (within five years), the medium, the location, and whether this particular relief is on the left jamb of the south transept of the cathedral, or on the topmost register of the north wall of the nave of the chapel. That is a lot of information. I am not very good at memorization, hence the flashcards.
Did I mention I also have a paper to write for Thursday? And that I have to pack still? And that I still have forty-five minutes left of work, and I'm really, really tired? Because all of that is true, too.
Labels: College
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Times like these, I wish I were a better storyteller
Singing along to: Chris Martin, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas
Let me tell you a story. A funny, funny story about the past forty-eight hours of my life. To use an expression left over from first grade, this story is so funny that I forgot to laugh. Perhaps I will remember to laugh in a month or so, once I've made up all the sleep I've missed due to this funny, funny story. Here it is:
Yesterday morning, I got up at 9 am. I went to my classes. I did not take any naps. At 7 pm, I went to work, and stayed there until 3 am.
It was cold at work, sitting there in a dorm lobby in the wee hours of the morning. Cold and tiring. I amused myself by watching Simpsons episodes and fantasizing about the flannel sheets I put on my bed a couple nights ago.
At 2:55 am, as I was packing up my things, I noticed a fire truck, with its lights on, drive by. Hmmm, I thought. Someone's having a rough evening. Thank goodness I can go back to my room now and finally go to sleep.
Then I looked up, and saw a whole bunch of people in bathrobes and PJs and blankets, pouring into the lobby, looking confused and distressed. Hey, I thought. Some of those people look familiar. Wait a minute--they all live in my residence hall. The one I was about to go back to. And go to sleep in.
"Our dorm's on fire!" they said.
And...yes. It was. There was a fire truck outside, hauling in hose, to put out the flaming trashcan on the boys' floor. Because yes...someone lit a trashcan on fire. At three in the morning. On a Tuesday night. The week before finals. The sprinklers went off in a couple of rooms, and messes ensued.
We ended up hanging out in various other residence halls all night, praying that the sprinklers hadn't destroyed our laptops and books, trying to sleep curled up wherever we could find a corner. (Someone joked that the whole thing was actually sponsored by Campus Ministry and the social justice people, to help us understand the plight of refugees.) At one point a couple of us piled into someone's car and made a 5 am trip to McDonald's in search of French fries and chocolate milkshakes. We ended up with hash browns and no milkshakes. And no sleep, either.
At 7:00 am, we were allowed back in for twenty minutes to change clothes and gather whatever we needed for the day. They warned us that we might not be able to get back in until 5:00 pm. We cursed the fact that the student center just replaced the old comfy lounge couches with a new, ugly, unfriendly-to-nappers selection of furniture.
They ended up letting us back into our rooms at 9:30 am. I went to my classes and so far have resisted the temptation to conk out completely, lest I further screw up my already wonky sleep schedule. In the past thirty-four hours, I have gotten exactly three non-consecutive hours of sleep.
In other words, I pulled an all-nighter, for only the second time ever, and I don't even have anything to show for it, except bigger under-eye circles.
Here's the punchline: This exact same thing happened almost exactly two years ago in the same dorm. Except last time, it was late morning, and it was just a toilet paper role that caught fire. But the story, in its essentials, was identical: the week before exams. Snow. Fire in the honors dorm. Lots of people standing around in their pajamas, worrying about their laptops.
The freshmen and sophomores thought they were having an unprecedented, brand-new college adventure. All the juniors and seniors could think was, Wait... didn't we already do this?
Let me tell you a story. A funny, funny story about the past forty-eight hours of my life. To use an expression left over from first grade, this story is so funny that I forgot to laugh. Perhaps I will remember to laugh in a month or so, once I've made up all the sleep I've missed due to this funny, funny story. Here it is:
Why I Pulled an All-Nighter and Don't Even Have a Paper to Show for It
Yesterday morning, I got up at 9 am. I went to my classes. I did not take any naps. At 7 pm, I went to work, and stayed there until 3 am.
It was cold at work, sitting there in a dorm lobby in the wee hours of the morning. Cold and tiring. I amused myself by watching Simpsons episodes and fantasizing about the flannel sheets I put on my bed a couple nights ago.
At 2:55 am, as I was packing up my things, I noticed a fire truck, with its lights on, drive by. Hmmm, I thought. Someone's having a rough evening. Thank goodness I can go back to my room now and finally go to sleep.
Then I looked up, and saw a whole bunch of people in bathrobes and PJs and blankets, pouring into the lobby, looking confused and distressed. Hey, I thought. Some of those people look familiar. Wait a minute--they all live in my residence hall. The one I was about to go back to. And go to sleep in.
"Our dorm's on fire!" they said.
And...yes. It was. There was a fire truck outside, hauling in hose, to put out the flaming trashcan on the boys' floor. Because yes...someone lit a trashcan on fire. At three in the morning. On a Tuesday night. The week before finals. The sprinklers went off in a couple of rooms, and messes ensued.
We ended up hanging out in various other residence halls all night, praying that the sprinklers hadn't destroyed our laptops and books, trying to sleep curled up wherever we could find a corner. (Someone joked that the whole thing was actually sponsored by Campus Ministry and the social justice people, to help us understand the plight of refugees.) At one point a couple of us piled into someone's car and made a 5 am trip to McDonald's in search of French fries and chocolate milkshakes. We ended up with hash browns and no milkshakes. And no sleep, either.
At 7:00 am, we were allowed back in for twenty minutes to change clothes and gather whatever we needed for the day. They warned us that we might not be able to get back in until 5:00 pm. We cursed the fact that the student center just replaced the old comfy lounge couches with a new, ugly, unfriendly-to-nappers selection of furniture.
They ended up letting us back into our rooms at 9:30 am. I went to my classes and so far have resisted the temptation to conk out completely, lest I further screw up my already wonky sleep schedule. In the past thirty-four hours, I have gotten exactly three non-consecutive hours of sleep.
In other words, I pulled an all-nighter, for only the second time ever, and I don't even have anything to show for it, except bigger under-eye circles.
Here's the punchline: This exact same thing happened almost exactly two years ago in the same dorm. Except last time, it was late morning, and it was just a toilet paper role that caught fire. But the story, in its essentials, was identical: the week before exams. Snow. Fire in the honors dorm. Lots of people standing around in their pajamas, worrying about their laptops.
The freshmen and sophomores thought they were having an unprecedented, brand-new college adventure. All the juniors and seniors could think was, Wait... didn't we already do this?
Labels: College
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Notes & Asides
Singing along to: Iron & Wine with Calexico, Prison on Route 41
Riddle me this, Batman: Why is that when I go to take a shower in the morning, the water is too hot to take a shower in, but when I wash my dishes in the evenings, I can't even get the water lukewarm? And then when I brush my teeth at night, the water is back to hot again. It makes no sense.
***
My makeshift curtains have been up for a couple weeks now, and I still don't like them. They're awkward looking and they clash with my flowerpots and my sheets. Since I already have blinds for privacy purposes, I am thinking of making a couple of these paper ornaments in different sizes and hanging them in front of my windows instead. What say you? And more importantly, what will the future roommate think?
***
Because, yes, actually, I think I unofficially have a roommate for next semester. I'm okay with this, because while I like my solitude, I also like this person. Plus, the situation meets two important requirements: one, that I actually know the person, and two, that I was consulted in advance about the arrangement. I haven't heard anything official from housing services, however.
***
It's now Advent, December, and cold as hell, which means that the Christmas season is officially allowed to begin. Not that it waits for my permission anyway, but at least I have my own personal permission to hang a plastic wreath on my door and add the three or four Christmas songs I can actually tolerate to my iTunes rotation. That's about as festive as I'm willing to get, actually.
***
Oh, PS, I successfully completed that whole NaBloPoMo thing, and I don't think I used the phrase "and then my head exploded" even once. Didn't win any prizes, but that's not why I did it, right? ...Right. Not sure my writing improved much either, but I think such things usually take longer than a month. And probably, at some point, the aspiring writer has to take the plunge into writing about things that are actually, you know, worth writing about, instead of just making lolpuppies. I'm just not sure I'm ready for that level of craftsmanship yet. Sorry, Strunk and White.
Riddle me this, Batman: Why is that when I go to take a shower in the morning, the water is too hot to take a shower in, but when I wash my dishes in the evenings, I can't even get the water lukewarm? And then when I brush my teeth at night, the water is back to hot again. It makes no sense.
***
My makeshift curtains have been up for a couple weeks now, and I still don't like them. They're awkward looking and they clash with my flowerpots and my sheets. Since I already have blinds for privacy purposes, I am thinking of making a couple of these paper ornaments in different sizes and hanging them in front of my windows instead. What say you? And more importantly, what will the future roommate think?
***
Because, yes, actually, I think I unofficially have a roommate for next semester. I'm okay with this, because while I like my solitude, I also like this person. Plus, the situation meets two important requirements: one, that I actually know the person, and two, that I was consulted in advance about the arrangement. I haven't heard anything official from housing services, however.
***
It's now Advent, December, and cold as hell, which means that the Christmas season is officially allowed to begin. Not that it waits for my permission anyway, but at least I have my own personal permission to hang a plastic wreath on my door and add the three or four Christmas songs I can actually tolerate to my iTunes rotation. That's about as festive as I'm willing to get, actually.
***
Oh, PS, I successfully completed that whole NaBloPoMo thing, and I don't think I used the phrase "and then my head exploded" even once. Didn't win any prizes, but that's not why I did it, right? ...Right. Not sure my writing improved much either, but I think such things usually take longer than a month. And probably, at some point, the aspiring writer has to take the plunge into writing about things that are actually, you know, worth writing about, instead of just making lolpuppies. I'm just not sure I'm ready for that level of craftsmanship yet. Sorry, Strunk and White.
Labels: College, Notes and Asides
Monday, December 03, 2007
The Decor Police
Singing along to: U2, If You Wear That Velvet Dress
Today I got an email from the RA that began with directive, "READ THESE RULES IF YOU ARE GOING TO DECORATE YOUR ROOM!!" Yes, in all caps and with double exclamation points to emphasize that these are Very Important Rules.
(Note: I have nothing against my RA. She seems like a nice person, probably nicer than I am, which is why she's an RA and I'm not. The fact that I don't go to floor meetings has nothing to do with her and everything to do with the fact that they're always when I have to work. Convenient!)
Mostly, the rules are about Christmas decorations, and how we should not put up live Christmas trees, use spray-applied artificial snow, or run extension cords across doorways or open expanses of floor. No, really? Also, we should not climb around on the roofs in order to decorate the exterior of the building. Blah blah blah, minimizing liability, whatever.
But then there was this: "Paper/posters or other combustible material of the sort used as coverings on walls should NOT occupy greater than 10% of the surface area."
I understand that they don't want us to wallpaper our rooms, but.. seriously? Will we be tested on this? Will they sneak into our rooms over the break and take measurements? Am I expected to take measurements? Because I am not getting a university education so that I can do actual real-world math. Let's not be ridiculous.
Today I got an email from the RA that began with directive, "READ THESE RULES IF YOU ARE GOING TO DECORATE YOUR ROOM!!" Yes, in all caps and with double exclamation points to emphasize that these are Very Important Rules.
(Note: I have nothing against my RA. She seems like a nice person, probably nicer than I am, which is why she's an RA and I'm not. The fact that I don't go to floor meetings has nothing to do with her and everything to do with the fact that they're always when I have to work. Convenient!)
Mostly, the rules are about Christmas decorations, and how we should not put up live Christmas trees, use spray-applied artificial snow, or run extension cords across doorways or open expanses of floor. No, really? Also, we should not climb around on the roofs in order to decorate the exterior of the building. Blah blah blah, minimizing liability, whatever.
But then there was this: "Paper/posters or other combustible material of the sort used as coverings on walls should NOT occupy greater than 10% of the surface area."
I understand that they don't want us to wallpaper our rooms, but.. seriously? Will we be tested on this? Will they sneak into our rooms over the break and take measurements? Am I expected to take measurements? Because I am not getting a university education so that I can do actual real-world math. Let's not be ridiculous.
Labels: College
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Notes & Asides
Singing along to: the Ramones, She's a Sensation
I have been seeing a ton of cute dresses lately, and all of sudden I kind of like dresses (it's like I'm a girl or something), but what is up with none of them ever being knee-length? I get that minis are "in" and none of them are super-short, but still. I like my thighs, but not that much. Knee length is much more flattering to, well, everyone.
***
I am thinking about getting my nose pierced. Not a ring, just a small stud, which can look cute. I've been toying with this idea for awhile, and before you dive for the smelling salts and warn me not to do anything rash, relax: it's not something I would possibly do until I'm off my parents' dime and out from under their roof. In other words, I have another two years or so to consider the possibilities.
***
The building I live in is right next door to one of the university's chapels, which also houses our organ. There are only two or three organ performance majors at the school, but whenever I walk past the chapel, at virtually any hour of the day or night, there is someone in there practicing. It's pleasant, but I have just one request, just one small favor to ask, that would make the entire experience fifteen times more enjoyable: someday, I would like to walk past the chapel and instead of hearing a classical piece by some long-dead composer, I would like to hear strains of the Imperial March from Star Wars drifting out through the windows. And on that day? Well, on that day I think my life would become perfect.
***
One of the toys I got for my birthday was Adobe Photoshop Elements. So far all I've figured out how to do is remove zits and other blemishes with the click of a mouse, and I've been doing that with a vengeance. I'm also learning how to skillfully erase my under-eye circles, but that raises certain questions, like "Without my under-eye circles, will I even look like myself?" We've been together so long it's hard to tell sometimes.
I have been seeing a ton of cute dresses lately, and all of sudden I kind of like dresses (it's like I'm a girl or something), but what is up with none of them ever being knee-length? I get that minis are "in" and none of them are super-short, but still. I like my thighs, but not that much. Knee length is much more flattering to, well, everyone.
***
I am thinking about getting my nose pierced. Not a ring, just a small stud, which can look cute. I've been toying with this idea for awhile, and before you dive for the smelling salts and warn me not to do anything rash, relax: it's not something I would possibly do until I'm off my parents' dime and out from under their roof. In other words, I have another two years or so to consider the possibilities.
***
The building I live in is right next door to one of the university's chapels, which also houses our organ. There are only two or three organ performance majors at the school, but whenever I walk past the chapel, at virtually any hour of the day or night, there is someone in there practicing. It's pleasant, but I have just one request, just one small favor to ask, that would make the entire experience fifteen times more enjoyable: someday, I would like to walk past the chapel and instead of hearing a classical piece by some long-dead composer, I would like to hear strains of the Imperial March from Star Wars drifting out through the windows. And on that day? Well, on that day I think my life would become perfect.
***
One of the toys I got for my birthday was Adobe Photoshop Elements. So far all I've figured out how to do is remove zits and other blemishes with the click of a mouse, and I've been doing that with a vengeance. I'm also learning how to skillfully erase my under-eye circles, but that raises certain questions, like "Without my under-eye circles, will I even look like myself?" We've been together so long it's hard to tell sometimes.
Labels: College, Notes and Asides
Sunday, November 11, 2007
This is filler, honestly
Singing along to: Monastic Choir of the Abbey of Notre-Dame of Fontgombault, Responsory: Sanctissime
I confess that I have nothing of consequence to say, but since it's November and it's far too soon to give up on NaBloPoMo, I am saying it anyway.
I got my college ring today, and for the first time in four years I am wearing a ring on my right hand that is not my high school ring. When I got my high school ring, I won't lie--I thought it was ugly. It is large, has a square black stone, and looks awfully masculine for a ring from an all-girls' school.
It grew on me fast. People ask about it all the time, since it doesn't look like a "traditional" class ring, and after I came to college, I found other girls with similar rings, mostly from all-girls' schools in the south. There's an older woman in my parish at home who still wears hers, and I'd guess she graduated forty-five years ago. The ring has staying power.
It's funny, too, when I think of how ambivalent I am about high school. On the one hand, I blossomed there, cliche as it is to say that. I shed the lonely awkwardness of middle school. It felt good. But senior year was an abyss, and while I'm no longer angry about it, the perspective of time hasn't made that year look any better. I had mixed feelings about the school when I left, too, and to a certain extent I still do.
But I still love that beautiful ring and I still want to get married in that beautiful chapel, because for better or for worse, that school and those four years set me on the path I'm on today.
And now I have a new (and equally non-traditional) ring to play with idly during class. My feelings about my college experience so far are just as mixed as my feelings about high school, but I love this ring just as whole-heartedly as I love my high school ring.
I confess that I have nothing of consequence to say, but since it's November and it's far too soon to give up on NaBloPoMo, I am saying it anyway.
I got my college ring today, and for the first time in four years I am wearing a ring on my right hand that is not my high school ring. When I got my high school ring, I won't lie--I thought it was ugly. It is large, has a square black stone, and looks awfully masculine for a ring from an all-girls' school.
It grew on me fast. People ask about it all the time, since it doesn't look like a "traditional" class ring, and after I came to college, I found other girls with similar rings, mostly from all-girls' schools in the south. There's an older woman in my parish at home who still wears hers, and I'd guess she graduated forty-five years ago. The ring has staying power.
It's funny, too, when I think of how ambivalent I am about high school. On the one hand, I blossomed there, cliche as it is to say that. I shed the lonely awkwardness of middle school. It felt good. But senior year was an abyss, and while I'm no longer angry about it, the perspective of time hasn't made that year look any better. I had mixed feelings about the school when I left, too, and to a certain extent I still do.
But I still love that beautiful ring and I still want to get married in that beautiful chapel, because for better or for worse, that school and those four years set me on the path I'm on today.
And now I have a new (and equally non-traditional) ring to play with idly during class. My feelings about my college experience so far are just as mixed as my feelings about high school, but I love this ring just as whole-heartedly as I love my high school ring.
Labels: College
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
That's a pickup line I didn't expect to hear
Singing along to: the Postal Service, We Will Become Silhouettes
There are many (actually, two) reasons why I crochet. One, because it is much more interesting than my homework, and Two, because I like scarves, which just so happen to be the only thing I can crochet. (Would you like a scarf for Christmas? Yes? Good.) If I thought really hard I could probably come up with another few reasons, but I'm pretty sure that no matter how I hard I thought, I would not come up with "it helps me pick up boys" as a reason to take up crocheting. (Even if I were trying to pick up boys, which, as it happens, I'm not.)
But, apparently, it could work!
I was sitting at work this evening, listening to music, making a scarf, and earning $8/hour (I love my job so much), and a guy walking by told me that he'd always wanted to learn to crochet but his sister said it was girly.
Then he walked by again later and asked if I gave private lessons.
Um?
(That was a pick-up attempt, right? I tend to be 100% oblivious to such attempts--oblivious, or just never, ever the object of flirtation. Also a possibility, albeit a depressing one.)
There are many (actually, two) reasons why I crochet. One, because it is much more interesting than my homework, and Two, because I like scarves, which just so happen to be the only thing I can crochet. (Would you like a scarf for Christmas? Yes? Good.) If I thought really hard I could probably come up with another few reasons, but I'm pretty sure that no matter how I hard I thought, I would not come up with "it helps me pick up boys" as a reason to take up crocheting. (Even if I were trying to pick up boys, which, as it happens, I'm not.)
But, apparently, it could work!
I was sitting at work this evening, listening to music, making a scarf, and earning $8/hour (I love my job so much), and a guy walking by told me that he'd always wanted to learn to crochet but his sister said it was girly.
Then he walked by again later and asked if I gave private lessons.
Um?
(That was a pick-up attempt, right? I tend to be 100% oblivious to such attempts--oblivious, or just never, ever the object of flirtation. Also a possibility, albeit a depressing one.)
Labels: College
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Notes & Asides
Singing along to: Dave Matthews Band, Stand Up (For It)
My dream last night was like some sort of Matt Damon thriller-type movie, except with a lot less Matt Damon running around being badass and a lot more of me running away screaming. Even in my dreams I'm a wimp, apparently.
***
Earlier this evening I walked into the bathroom and was greeted by the smell of nail-polish remover. I was going to add that to the growing list of Proofs That I'm Crazy, but in this case, it wasn't just my overly-sensitive nose playing tricks on me. A girl was actually sitting on the toilet and removing her toenail polish. Must not pass judgment, must not pass judgment...
***
I went upstairs to the lounge/kitchen to wash some dishes, but couldn't do so because someone was getting a haircut in the very small kitchenette. This is the second time in two weeks I've seen someone getting a haircut up there; the last time I tried to cook my macaroni & cheese around them, to mixed results. Made me paranoid about small hairs in my macaroni, but I was too hungry to wait. I suppose the kitchen is the most logical place to do the grooming, but it's annoying nonetheless, particularly when I'd like to use it for actual kitchen purposes. Must not pass judgment...
***
A word of advice: If you're on the train and you'd like to complain to your friend about the appalling behavior of Kids These Days, you might want to do a quick check to make sure you're not, for example, sitting right behind one of the little delinquents, who can hear every word you're saying and who, for the record, is behaving quite acceptably. In seventeen days, I will be twenty years old and will no longer have to take offense at all the gross generalizations made about those damn teenagers, but until then, people, I'd appreciate it if you'd spare a quick thought for your unintended audience. (Of course, once I turn twenty, then I guess I'll be a twentysomething, and therefore subject to all of those tiresome stereotypes, so it might not be an improvement at all.)
My dream last night was like some sort of Matt Damon thriller-type movie, except with a lot less Matt Damon running around being badass and a lot more of me running away screaming. Even in my dreams I'm a wimp, apparently.
***
Earlier this evening I walked into the bathroom and was greeted by the smell of nail-polish remover. I was going to add that to the growing list of Proofs That I'm Crazy, but in this case, it wasn't just my overly-sensitive nose playing tricks on me. A girl was actually sitting on the toilet and removing her toenail polish. Must not pass judgment, must not pass judgment...
***
I went upstairs to the lounge/kitchen to wash some dishes, but couldn't do so because someone was getting a haircut in the very small kitchenette. This is the second time in two weeks I've seen someone getting a haircut up there; the last time I tried to cook my macaroni & cheese around them, to mixed results. Made me paranoid about small hairs in my macaroni, but I was too hungry to wait. I suppose the kitchen is the most logical place to do the grooming, but it's annoying nonetheless, particularly when I'd like to use it for actual kitchen purposes. Must not pass judgment...
***
A word of advice: If you're on the train and you'd like to complain to your friend about the appalling behavior of Kids These Days, you might want to do a quick check to make sure you're not, for example, sitting right behind one of the little delinquents, who can hear every word you're saying and who, for the record, is behaving quite acceptably. In seventeen days, I will be twenty years old and will no longer have to take offense at all the gross generalizations made about those damn teenagers, but until then, people, I'd appreciate it if you'd spare a quick thought for your unintended audience. (Of course, once I turn twenty, then I guess I'll be a twentysomething, and therefore subject to all of those tiresome stereotypes, so it might not be an improvement at all.)
Labels: College, Notes and Asides
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Letters to you
Singing along to: Cat Stevens, The Wind
Dear Young Man in My Math Class,
Nice t-shirt. I've actually always wanted a shirt that says "I'M AN ASSHOLE" across the chest in bright bold letters, but I've never been able to find the perfect one. You seem to have accomplished that goal. Congratulations.
What's that you say? That's not what your t-shirt actually said? Yes, it is. I guess they just forgot to tell you at the store, but any shirt that reads "No, I will not go out with you," actually proclaims your asshole status to every woman (and most decent men) that you encounter while wearing it.
You really made my slapping hand itch, I'll tell you that, but luckily Al Gore made the Internet so I can vent my frustrations without getting written up for assault.
Of course, I doubt that's the effect you thought you were having. You probably thought you were doing me a favor, cluing me in on your lack of interest before I threw myself desperately at your feet, because OH MY GOD, YOU'RE SO HOT, CAN I HAVE YOUR BABIES? WE COULD BE SO HAPPY TOGETHER. The desire, it is uncontrollable. So maybe I should be thanking you for saving me from the inevitable pangs of rejection I would have felt had I dared to approach you, sitting there on your throne of sex-godliness.
Or not.
Because honestly? You're not that hot. And if your questionably witty t-shirt is any indication, you don't have a winning personality, either.
Smoochies,
Claire
P.S. Yes, yes, I know there are many worse and more asshole-ish t-shirts out there. But yours was the one I saw today, you lucky thing, so you get to feel the sharp edge of my cutting wit.
Dear Young Man in My Math Class,
Nice t-shirt. I've actually always wanted a shirt that says "I'M AN ASSHOLE" across the chest in bright bold letters, but I've never been able to find the perfect one. You seem to have accomplished that goal. Congratulations.
What's that you say? That's not what your t-shirt actually said? Yes, it is. I guess they just forgot to tell you at the store, but any shirt that reads "No, I will not go out with you," actually proclaims your asshole status to every woman (and most decent men) that you encounter while wearing it.
You really made my slapping hand itch, I'll tell you that, but luckily Al Gore made the Internet so I can vent my frustrations without getting written up for assault.
Of course, I doubt that's the effect you thought you were having. You probably thought you were doing me a favor, cluing me in on your lack of interest before I threw myself desperately at your feet, because OH MY GOD, YOU'RE SO HOT, CAN I HAVE YOUR BABIES? WE COULD BE SO HAPPY TOGETHER. The desire, it is uncontrollable. So maybe I should be thanking you for saving me from the inevitable pangs of rejection I would have felt had I dared to approach you, sitting there on your throne of sex-godliness.
Or not.
Because honestly? You're not that hot. And if your questionably witty t-shirt is any indication, you don't have a winning personality, either.
Smoochies,
Claire
P.S. Yes, yes, I know there are many worse and more asshole-ish t-shirts out there. But yours was the one I saw today, you lucky thing, so you get to feel the sharp edge of my cutting wit.
Labels: College, Letters to You
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Life in a nutshell
Singing along to: Dolorean, To Destruction
You may recall me mentioning that, for a whole host of reasons, I'm living in a double without a roommate. I've been keeping my fingers crossed and hoping this would fly under the radar for as long as possible, because hey, it's kind of nice.
Well, last week I was Facebooked by someone who said she might be moving in; could she come see the room? Grumble grumble, whatever, okay. She came by and then I didn't hear anything for a week. Good sign, I thought. I guess she did hear me mention the cockroaches. Crisis averted.
Or not, because yesterday afternoon I got an email from Housing Services letting me know that they'd assigned me a roommate and she'd be moving in on Friday. Grumble, grumble, now I have to consult her about the curtains I'm buying this weekend. Damn! On the bright side, maybe she'll have a TV! Or a microwave! Man, I really want a microwave.* I consoled myself with that hope. Also, with a caramel frappuchino.
This morning, I woke up and thought, hmm, last day of solitude. I should skip all my classes and lounge around in my underwear, eating Cheetos and watching movies, just because I can. But I went to class instead, and that's how I ended up in the computer lab at noon, checking my email. Which is how I discovered another email from Housing Services, which said, "Re: yesterday's email. J/K LOL!" (Maybe I'm paraphrasing.)
So now I don't have a roommate again. Pros: now I don't have to clean the room or stop using the other bed as a second dresser. Cons: No hypothetical TV or microwave.
Why do I feel like I've done this before? Oh. Right. Because I have. This is the second time this year that they've assigned and then unassigned me a roommate. Make up your damn minds, Housing Services! (Preferably in favor of letting me live alone.)
*Although, really, I'd settle for the microwave in the second-floor lounge working. It's been broken since--no joke!--January.
You may recall me mentioning that, for a whole host of reasons, I'm living in a double without a roommate. I've been keeping my fingers crossed and hoping this would fly under the radar for as long as possible, because hey, it's kind of nice.
Well, last week I was Facebooked by someone who said she might be moving in; could she come see the room? Grumble grumble, whatever, okay. She came by and then I didn't hear anything for a week. Good sign, I thought. I guess she did hear me mention the cockroaches. Crisis averted.
Or not, because yesterday afternoon I got an email from Housing Services letting me know that they'd assigned me a roommate and she'd be moving in on Friday. Grumble, grumble, now I have to consult her about the curtains I'm buying this weekend. Damn! On the bright side, maybe she'll have a TV! Or a microwave! Man, I really want a microwave.* I consoled myself with that hope. Also, with a caramel frappuchino.
This morning, I woke up and thought, hmm, last day of solitude. I should skip all my classes and lounge around in my underwear, eating Cheetos and watching movies, just because I can. But I went to class instead, and that's how I ended up in the computer lab at noon, checking my email. Which is how I discovered another email from Housing Services, which said, "Re: yesterday's email. J/K LOL!" (Maybe I'm paraphrasing.)
So now I don't have a roommate again. Pros: now I don't have to clean the room or stop using the other bed as a second dresser. Cons: No hypothetical TV or microwave.
Why do I feel like I've done this before? Oh. Right. Because I have. This is the second time this year that they've assigned and then unassigned me a roommate. Make up your damn minds, Housing Services! (Preferably in favor of letting me live alone.)
*Although, really, I'd settle for the microwave in the second-floor lounge working. It's been broken since--no joke!--January.
Labels: College
Friday, September 21, 2007
The semester so far...
Singing along to: U2, Rejoice
Now that we're nearly a month into the semester (a month? really? Good heavens.), I thought it might be nice to mention the classes I'm taking.
(Actually, that's sort of a lie. It's going to be boring, because I'm doing this mostly for archival purposes. Because, you know, otherwise I might look back in ten years and be utterly distraught because I couldn't remember what I was taking the fall of my junior year. Hey, it could happen. Bear with me.)
Data Analysis and Statistics: At least, I think that's what the class is called. That's what it's about, at any rate. It is so boring and so slow-moving that it makes me want to cry, but it fulfills a math/science requirement with as little math/science and as little real effort as is possible and for that I am grateful. Also, the teacher gave us Skittles once.
World Religions: It's an interesting subject to begin with, and the teacher (who I had for my Buddhism class last semester) is really fantastic. Religion is pretty cool to begin with and the ways in which religion and culture shape and change each other fascinate me. Plus, I've had thirteen years of Catholic education. I know Catholicism pretty well, but it's a wide world out there. This class seems like a good way to learn more.
History of Art: Prehistory through the Middle Ages: Not too bad, although we're already behind. It's pretty much inevitable in a survey class. I generally like the art of this period more than the art of the Renaissance, etc, although I am already sick of the ancient Greeks. They're sort of boring.
Anglo-Saxon England: Oh, man, I want to love this one so badly. And I'm halfway there: I love the subject matter and I'm even enjoying the readings (review of Beowulf coming up?). But the professor is so dry and her lectures are so scattered that I'm really have trouble even taking coherent notes. Bummer.
The Rise of Islam: This will probably be my hardest class; certainly it's the one I have the most reading in. Plus it largely covers an area of medieval studies that I have only the vaguest familiarity with. That means I'll be learning a lot, but it also means I'll be working really hard to do so. This class is interesting because we have two professors: a Byzantinist and a Semitics/Early Christianity person. The latter is pretty awesome: he's a cute old man who wears socks with matching sandals and also, apparently, is a world-renowned expert in his field. Sweet!
Overall, I'm doing a lot of reading this semester, and I can't figure out if that's because I actually have more reading than I used to, or because unlike past semesters, I'm actually trying to do all the reading. On the bright side, I don't seem to have that many papers.
Now that we're nearly a month into the semester (a month? really? Good heavens.), I thought it might be nice to mention the classes I'm taking.
(Actually, that's sort of a lie. It's going to be boring, because I'm doing this mostly for archival purposes. Because, you know, otherwise I might look back in ten years and be utterly distraught because I couldn't remember what I was taking the fall of my junior year. Hey, it could happen. Bear with me.)
Data Analysis and Statistics: At least, I think that's what the class is called. That's what it's about, at any rate. It is so boring and so slow-moving that it makes me want to cry, but it fulfills a math/science requirement with as little math/science and as little real effort as is possible and for that I am grateful. Also, the teacher gave us Skittles once.
World Religions: It's an interesting subject to begin with, and the teacher (who I had for my Buddhism class last semester) is really fantastic. Religion is pretty cool to begin with and the ways in which religion and culture shape and change each other fascinate me. Plus, I've had thirteen years of Catholic education. I know Catholicism pretty well, but it's a wide world out there. This class seems like a good way to learn more.
History of Art: Prehistory through the Middle Ages: Not too bad, although we're already behind. It's pretty much inevitable in a survey class. I generally like the art of this period more than the art of the Renaissance, etc, although I am already sick of the ancient Greeks. They're sort of boring.
Anglo-Saxon England: Oh, man, I want to love this one so badly. And I'm halfway there: I love the subject matter and I'm even enjoying the readings (review of Beowulf coming up?). But the professor is so dry and her lectures are so scattered that I'm really have trouble even taking coherent notes. Bummer.
The Rise of Islam: This will probably be my hardest class; certainly it's the one I have the most reading in. Plus it largely covers an area of medieval studies that I have only the vaguest familiarity with. That means I'll be learning a lot, but it also means I'll be working really hard to do so. This class is interesting because we have two professors: a Byzantinist and a Semitics/Early Christianity person. The latter is pretty awesome: he's a cute old man who wears socks with matching sandals and also, apparently, is a world-renowned expert in his field. Sweet!
Overall, I'm doing a lot of reading this semester, and I can't figure out if that's because I actually have more reading than I used to, or because unlike past semesters, I'm actually trying to do all the reading. On the bright side, I don't seem to have that many papers.
Labels: College
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Loneliness vs. being alone
Singing along to: Simon & Garfunkel, My Little Town
I frequently eat meals alone, for one reason or another. This used to bother me, but doesn't anymore, because now I'm usually doing it by choice. I could be purposely eating at an unpopular time, either because I need to go somewhere or because I don't want to wait in line for 20 minutes to get a turkey sandwich. Sometimes I have a lot of work to do and meal times make for perfect reading time. Sometimes, particularly after a long day, the idea of spending even a minute in the noisy, crowded dining hall is just unbearable. So I get a to-go box and eat in the blessed silence of my room. Sometimes, I just like being alone. I suspect that I am not alone in this preference.
But I guess there are people who automatically equate "being alone" with "loneliness," and further assume that it's never by choice and never a pleasure. This evening in the dining hall, while my dining companion was up getting more food, a girl I've never spoken to before approached my table.
"Hey," she said. "I'm in your religion class. Are you eating all by yourself? Because you can come sit with my friends and me."
"Um," I said. "I am actually eating with somebody. He's just getting more food." That's his plate and backpack sitting right there at the other chair, I thought. Duh. Also, HELLO AWKWARD. "But, um, thanks?"
She looked briefly non-plussed. "Oh, okay. You just looked lonely. You can sit with us anytime."
Then she asked my name, and I told her, and I tried not to say anything sarcastic, like, "Are you a freshman? Because only a freshman would do what you just did."
She's just trying to be nice, I told myself. She's not trying to make you feel awkward and lonely, or imply that you have no friends, you poor thing, let me shower my uncalled-for pity upon you. Really, Self, she's just doing what all those stupid "Make New Friends Now!" articles tell her to."
A few more seconds of awkwardly-smiling weirdness followed, and then she went back to sit with her friends, and my friend came back to the table, and I tried not to let it bother me.
But, for some reason, it did. I know she was just trying to be friendly, and the whole exchange was probably as uncomfortable for her as it was for me. After all, she thought I was friendless and alone, and when I turned out not to be, not to need her generosity, well, that's kind of a misjudgment. Also, vaguely insulting.
Perhaps it's because I'm so terribly introverted (and shy, which is not the same thing), but I cannot see a circumstance in which I would so confidently assume that someone sitting alone is necessarily lonely. Nor can I foresee a circumstance in which I would trade sitting alone for sitting with a group of people who know each other, but who do not know me. I wouldn't have taken her up on her offer even if I hadn't been eaten with a friend. Partially, of course, that's pride. But it's also a feeling that I don't have to be socializing every minute of every day. I like to socialize, but I'll take quality over quantity any time.
And if you feel that you are more likely to be the approacher than the approachee, stop and remind yourself that being alone does not necessarily indicate loneliness. I've been achingly lonely in a room full of people and entirely content in the company of only myself.
If none of this makes sense at all, if you you think my propensity for keeping my own company is an indication of a dangerously antisocial misanthropic streak--well, you may be right. But before you make that call, I'd suggest you read this handy guide to caring for your introvert from the Atlantic. Perhaps it exaggerates somewhat, but in its essentials, it sums it all up nicely.
So, what do you all think? Ever been on the receiving end of a well-intentioned but mistaken attempt to "help" you? Think I'm totally crazy? Ever tried to make friends by approaching random strangers in the middle of dinner? (If so, did it work?) I'd love to know.
"I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself." (Emily Bronte)
I frequently eat meals alone, for one reason or another. This used to bother me, but doesn't anymore, because now I'm usually doing it by choice. I could be purposely eating at an unpopular time, either because I need to go somewhere or because I don't want to wait in line for 20 minutes to get a turkey sandwich. Sometimes I have a lot of work to do and meal times make for perfect reading time. Sometimes, particularly after a long day, the idea of spending even a minute in the noisy, crowded dining hall is just unbearable. So I get a to-go box and eat in the blessed silence of my room. Sometimes, I just like being alone. I suspect that I am not alone in this preference.
But I guess there are people who automatically equate "being alone" with "loneliness," and further assume that it's never by choice and never a pleasure. This evening in the dining hall, while my dining companion was up getting more food, a girl I've never spoken to before approached my table.
"Hey," she said. "I'm in your religion class. Are you eating all by yourself? Because you can come sit with my friends and me."
"Um," I said. "I am actually eating with somebody. He's just getting more food." That's his plate and backpack sitting right there at the other chair, I thought. Duh. Also, HELLO AWKWARD. "But, um, thanks?"
She looked briefly non-plussed. "Oh, okay. You just looked lonely. You can sit with us anytime."
Then she asked my name, and I told her, and I tried not to say anything sarcastic, like, "Are you a freshman? Because only a freshman would do what you just did."
She's just trying to be nice, I told myself. She's not trying to make you feel awkward and lonely, or imply that you have no friends, you poor thing, let me shower my uncalled-for pity upon you. Really, Self, she's just doing what all those stupid "Make New Friends Now!" articles tell her to."
A few more seconds of awkwardly-smiling weirdness followed, and then she went back to sit with her friends, and my friend came back to the table, and I tried not to let it bother me.
But, for some reason, it did. I know she was just trying to be friendly, and the whole exchange was probably as uncomfortable for her as it was for me. After all, she thought I was friendless and alone, and when I turned out not to be, not to need her generosity, well, that's kind of a misjudgment. Also, vaguely insulting.
Perhaps it's because I'm so terribly introverted (and shy, which is not the same thing), but I cannot see a circumstance in which I would so confidently assume that someone sitting alone is necessarily lonely. Nor can I foresee a circumstance in which I would trade sitting alone for sitting with a group of people who know each other, but who do not know me. I wouldn't have taken her up on her offer even if I hadn't been eaten with a friend. Partially, of course, that's pride. But it's also a feeling that I don't have to be socializing every minute of every day. I like to socialize, but I'll take quality over quantity any time.
And if you feel that you are more likely to be the approacher than the approachee, stop and remind yourself that being alone does not necessarily indicate loneliness. I've been achingly lonely in a room full of people and entirely content in the company of only myself.
If none of this makes sense at all, if you you think my propensity for keeping my own company is an indication of a dangerously antisocial misanthropic streak--well, you may be right. But before you make that call, I'd suggest you read this handy guide to caring for your introvert from the Atlantic. Perhaps it exaggerates somewhat, but in its essentials, it sums it all up nicely.
So, what do you all think? Ever been on the receiving end of a well-intentioned but mistaken attempt to "help" you? Think I'm totally crazy? Ever tried to make friends by approaching random strangers in the middle of dinner? (If so, did it work?) I'd love to know.
Labels: College
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