I've been reading The Historian for the past week which has gotten this reputation of being suspenseful and awesome, and I just can't get into it. The author is so repetitive and so slow with her story, I can't read it for more than 30 minutes at a time. She's just flapping her gums on the page. And while the mental image of gums flapping (like in those slow motion internet clips where people get slapped across the face and you can see their skin rippling) is quite hilarious. The fact that this book is 642 pages long and I'm on page 343 and it still sucks is not hilarious.
I just want to go back to the days of the first Harry Potter books. When it wasn't a race to the finish and they weren't the size of the Bible. Where you would just sit in bed on the weekends and read all day, and never get tired of it. And then after dinner, you were actually excited to get back to reading. I haven't really read a book like that since I was 12 years old.
On a completely unrelated note, I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow. The plan (for now) is to just let it grow while I'm at school, because it's easier that way. But deep down inside my cold, stony heart, I want short hair. Crazy short hair that makes people do a double-take to place your sex. Because short hair kicks so much ass, ohmyGodletmetellya. It's easy and androgenous and stands out. Kick ass.
But in the part of my heart that isn't so stony, I still long for those long curls that hang down your back. Or bun-ing it all up on the back of your head (in strategic chaos) and then sticking a pencil in it.
We'll see how I feel tomorra'.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Later that night....
I've been thinking about feminism for the past week or so, and, granted, I'm not too keen on the history of all the revolutions and movements that have taken place this century, but I'm thinking those didn't work all that well.
Because I'm starting to thinking that any kind of social movement has to occur on the grassroots level. And by "grassroots level" I mean at the level of the individual. Sure, there can be solidarity and companionship amongst people going through the same "turmoil", but it's not the marches or the bra-burnings or the crazy bitches with bullhorns that get people to change, it's when they meet someone who doesn't fit into the neat little stereotype muffin pan they have drawn out in their mind. Then they have to redraw, and then they have to accommodate that new view into their daily workings.
So then I thought about all the kickass women out there working for the cause. And then I thought about how for every one of them, there are probably 10 other women who "counteract" them. For every lady engineer/firefighter/CEO kicking ass and taking names, there are 10 women who nestle themselves deep within the stereotype and shoot out a handful of babies. There's nothing wrong with having lots of babies or fitting a stereotype, but when you run to the stereotype of weak/needy/nurturing womanness because acceptance and adjustment is just easier that way, then it's a sad day.
And I still believe the world is run by men, and will be for a long time because there's still a lot of resistance to gender equality. But sometimes women ask for too much...
Damn, now I've confused myself. Bugger-nut.
Because I'm starting to thinking that any kind of social movement has to occur on the grassroots level. And by "grassroots level" I mean at the level of the individual. Sure, there can be solidarity and companionship amongst people going through the same "turmoil", but it's not the marches or the bra-burnings or the crazy bitches with bullhorns that get people to change, it's when they meet someone who doesn't fit into the neat little stereotype muffin pan they have drawn out in their mind. Then they have to redraw, and then they have to accommodate that new view into their daily workings.
So then I thought about all the kickass women out there working for the cause. And then I thought about how for every one of them, there are probably 10 other women who "counteract" them. For every lady engineer/firefighter/CEO kicking ass and taking names, there are 10 women who nestle themselves deep within the stereotype and shoot out a handful of babies. There's nothing wrong with having lots of babies or fitting a stereotype, but when you run to the stereotype of weak/needy/nurturing womanness because acceptance and adjustment is just easier that way, then it's a sad day.
And I still believe the world is run by men, and will be for a long time because there's still a lot of resistance to gender equality. But sometimes women ask for too much...
Damn, now I've confused myself. Bugger-nut.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Bitter.
Like dark chocolate... but without the chocolatey goodness. And the cardiovascular benefits.
I just spent the last hour putting together a jigsaw puzzle, and wowee! Let me tell you how exciting my life is...
So I was doing this damn puzzle (I did the sky section) on a whim, because it's 2 in the morning and I'm tired of reading and writing, and I've reached this Guitar Hero plateau where I just can't get any better and don't really want to because the game has nothing to do with skill or music or anything that could possibly be useful anywhere outside of a 10 foot radius around the TV, and I realized how much you can probably tell about a person by how they approach a jigsaw puzzle.
Like me, for instance (because I have very little exposure to jigsaw puzzles and the doing of them by others), at first I was just bored, but kind of being stubborn about finishing the part that I had set out to do. After about 20 minutes of futilely trying to match up the colors (which was quite impossible in my situation), I realized that the little jigsaw bits had distinct shapes. And then I started focusing on the shapes of the little corners and nubby bits more than color. And it worked! I pimp slapped that sky (and by "pimp slapped", I mean "finished) in a very unimpressive span of time. But I finished it nonetheless.
Where as my dad, for another instance, comes over to a puzzle, looks at the general idea behind the picture, and then places the piece solely based on color and general layout. Mind-boggling.
In conclusion, I only have two styles to go on and, therefore, can not really expand on this blog post further. And as I'm fairly certain that people with lives don't actually do jigsaw puzzles much, no one will probably add to/expound on my theory, except for Maca who is awesome.
I just spent the last hour putting together a jigsaw puzzle, and wowee! Let me tell you how exciting my life is...
So I was doing this damn puzzle (I did the sky section) on a whim, because it's 2 in the morning and I'm tired of reading and writing, and I've reached this Guitar Hero plateau where I just can't get any better and don't really want to because the game has nothing to do with skill or music or anything that could possibly be useful anywhere outside of a 10 foot radius around the TV, and I realized how much you can probably tell about a person by how they approach a jigsaw puzzle.
Like me, for instance (because I have very little exposure to jigsaw puzzles and the doing of them by others), at first I was just bored, but kind of being stubborn about finishing the part that I had set out to do. After about 20 minutes of futilely trying to match up the colors (which was quite impossible in my situation), I realized that the little jigsaw bits had distinct shapes. And then I started focusing on the shapes of the little corners and nubby bits more than color. And it worked! I pimp slapped that sky (and by "pimp slapped", I mean "finished) in a very unimpressive span of time. But I finished it nonetheless.
Where as my dad, for another instance, comes over to a puzzle, looks at the general idea behind the picture, and then places the piece solely based on color and general layout. Mind-boggling.
In conclusion, I only have two styles to go on and, therefore, can not really expand on this blog post further. And as I'm fairly certain that people with lives don't actually do jigsaw puzzles much, no one will probably add to/expound on my theory, except for Maca who is awesome.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Home again, home again, jiggity-jig.
I have no idea what nursery rhyme/childhood saying that goes to. All I can think of is "This little piggy went to market..." and I know that's not right. Oh, the frustrations of summer.
No! I'm not going to Google it. Google is for quitters... which I am in most cases... but not today!
Packed up my dorm, moved out, and drove home. It went surprisingly well. Although I have come to the realization that I have a lot of crap (most of which is clothing), and I should probably think about giving some of it away. But it's so hard to let go...
It's always somewhat of a culture-shock (with a very loose utilization of the definition here) leaving Ithaca. Hearing new songs on the radio you haven't listened to in 4 months. Seeing new commercials/TV shows/products. The biggest shocker (to me) is seeing people that aren't upper-middle class and in their twenties. Like babies. Babies are freaky when you're leaving a college setting. Very small children are also strange, and toddlers are the worst of all.
But other than adjusting, it's nice to be home. And have a mommy cooking for me. And not have a roommate. My summer projects (for the month I have before I return to Ithaca and start summer classes) are as follows:
-read books
-learn to make hair curly
The latter of which sounds kind of silly, but lemmesplain: I have wavy hair (yes, is true). But sadly, when I try to tap into this waviness, I only come up with frizzy, tangled-looking, white-trash hair. Hence, me wearing my hair straight and suppressing the wave. Most people have overly-curly hair and have to product it up to make anything of it, but I have slightly underly-curly hair (yes, I am making up words now) and need to figure out a way to reap the most curl I can off this lousy head of mine. Suggestions are mighty welcome.
No! I'm not going to Google it. Google is for quitters... which I am in most cases... but not today!
Packed up my dorm, moved out, and drove home. It went surprisingly well. Although I have come to the realization that I have a lot of crap (most of which is clothing), and I should probably think about giving some of it away. But it's so hard to let go...
It's always somewhat of a culture-shock (with a very loose utilization of the definition here) leaving Ithaca. Hearing new songs on the radio you haven't listened to in 4 months. Seeing new commercials/TV shows/products. The biggest shocker (to me) is seeing people that aren't upper-middle class and in their twenties. Like babies. Babies are freaky when you're leaving a college setting. Very small children are also strange, and toddlers are the worst of all.
But other than adjusting, it's nice to be home. And have a mommy cooking for me. And not have a roommate. My summer projects (for the month I have before I return to Ithaca and start summer classes) are as follows:
-read books
-learn to make hair curly
The latter of which sounds kind of silly, but lemmesplain: I have wavy hair (yes, is true). But sadly, when I try to tap into this waviness, I only come up with frizzy, tangled-looking, white-trash hair. Hence, me wearing my hair straight and suppressing the wave. Most people have overly-curly hair and have to product it up to make anything of it, but I have slightly underly-curly hair (yes, I am making up words now) and need to figure out a way to reap the most curl I can off this lousy head of mine. Suggestions are mighty welcome.
Monday, May 12, 2008
For your procrastinating pleasure
Ha! Pun... kind of.
I don't know how many people are still taking exams, but here is a good 15 minutes of distraction for you.
Green Porno
My favorite is the spider.
I don't know how many people are still taking exams, but here is a good 15 minutes of distraction for you.
Green Porno
My favorite is the spider.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Freedom!
Isn't that what Mel Gibson screams at the end of "Braveheart"? I don't remember...
Ahh, sweet freedom... from physics anyway. Today I took my last test, got a B in the class, and sold my book for one hundred bucks. 'Twas glorious. I forgot how liberating the end of spring semester is. And now I'll never look at physics again... except when I'm taking the MCAT... and the GRE. Damn.
And I think I'm getting sick. Bugger. I have this one pissed off, swollen lymph node on the side of my neck the size of ... *touches to check*... a skittle (not as impressive as I originally thought...), and I can feel my throat starting to get more sensitive. But just one side of it! Very strange.
So that's my life. Study. Test. Study. Another test. Sell books. Clean out room, and then I'm gone!... for a few weeks. And then I come back!
Sometimes I wonder what will become of my roommate. Because she doesn't have classes anymore (her next two weeks are also devoted to studying and testing) she doesn't leave the room anymore (except for dinner). She spends two-thirds of her day at her desk watching anime/doing homework/studying?/watching more anime. She's a linguistics major. I'm not really sure how much work that entails, but for most of the year she has only been on campus for (at most a few hours a day) and then comes back and sits at her computer.
The point of this rant is that I worry for the future of civilization (the United States, specifically). And I secretly (and... for the most part... silently) wonder what will become of the hundreds of thousands of youths who do what needs to be done, but then spend the rest of their time on the internet or playing video games.
Maybe it's a phase they'll come out of. Or maybe they won't. Or maybe (just maybe), their mentality will become the norm and that will be the lifestyle of the majority of the population 10 or 20 or 50 years from now. I shudder to think...
I'm not one to criticise (okay, yes I am), pero with a such a huge active campus to explore and only 4 years to do it, I would hate to spend the majority of that in front of a computer. I'm not the most socially active person (yes, there have been entire weekends devoted to movies and episodes of Scrubs/House, M.D.), but I get out. Every once in a while...
Ahh, sweet freedom... from physics anyway. Today I took my last test, got a B in the class, and sold my book for one hundred bucks. 'Twas glorious. I forgot how liberating the end of spring semester is. And now I'll never look at physics again... except when I'm taking the MCAT... and the GRE. Damn.
And I think I'm getting sick. Bugger. I have this one pissed off, swollen lymph node on the side of my neck the size of ... *touches to check*... a skittle (not as impressive as I originally thought...), and I can feel my throat starting to get more sensitive. But just one side of it! Very strange.
So that's my life. Study. Test. Study. Another test. Sell books. Clean out room, and then I'm gone!... for a few weeks. And then I come back!
Sometimes I wonder what will become of my roommate. Because she doesn't have classes anymore (her next two weeks are also devoted to studying and testing) she doesn't leave the room anymore (except for dinner). She spends two-thirds of her day at her desk watching anime/doing homework/studying?/watching more anime. She's a linguistics major. I'm not really sure how much work that entails, but for most of the year she has only been on campus for (at most a few hours a day) and then comes back and sits at her computer.
The point of this rant is that I worry for the future of civilization (the United States, specifically). And I secretly (and... for the most part... silently) wonder what will become of the hundreds of thousands of youths who do what needs to be done, but then spend the rest of their time on the internet or playing video games.
Maybe it's a phase they'll come out of. Or maybe they won't. Or maybe (just maybe), their mentality will become the norm and that will be the lifestyle of the majority of the population 10 or 20 or 50 years from now. I shudder to think...
I'm not one to criticise (okay, yes I am), pero with a such a huge active campus to explore and only 4 years to do it, I would hate to spend the majority of that in front of a computer. I'm not the most socially active person (yes, there have been entire weekends devoted to movies and episodes of Scrubs/House, M.D.), but I get out. Every once in a while...
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Num num num num num
At the grocery store yesterday, I caved in to my inner-child and made myself one of those little bags of candy where you pick and choose from the bins.
Mostly because I'm in love with Bulls-Eyes. They are the greatest candy creation of all time, what with their chewy carmel outer ring and their deliciously arificial inner creaminess. (Apparently,) they defy my usual tastes in food (too sweet... way way too sweet), but I will overlook their unruly sweetness for the amazing consistency. Amazing!
And upon further examination of the wrapper, I find that they are made by the company "Goatze's"... eww.
But they're still delicious! if I just censor my brain from certain thoughts...
The African American program house is having some kind of picnic over at the Africana Library and they're playing rap music. It's not that I don't like rap music (which I don't), it's just that when you listen to it from a distance and through a window, all you can hear is the base. So there is no melody or words, but this annoyingly steady beat constantly going on. But I have my giant bag of assorted candies to comfort me.
Yesterday was Slope Day at Cornell. They festive day that marks the end of classes with boozing and general college debauchery. This year Gym Class Heroes, Hot Hot Heat, and... some other one-hit wonder band came and performed to the masses. The performance was considerably better than last year (T.I... bleh!). And thus my sophomore year (almost) ended, in one 24 hour haze of drunks and lukewarm pretzels (can solids be described as lukewarm?) and one failed physics tests and a rockin' chimes concert.
(P.S. Apparently "Umbrella" has been arranged for chimes... excellent.)
Mostly because I'm in love with Bulls-Eyes. They are the greatest candy creation of all time, what with their chewy carmel outer ring and their deliciously arificial inner creaminess. (Apparently,) they defy my usual tastes in food (too sweet... way way too sweet), but I will overlook their unruly sweetness for the amazing consistency. Amazing!
And upon further examination of the wrapper, I find that they are made by the company "Goatze's"... eww.
But they're still delicious! if I just censor my brain from certain thoughts...
The African American program house is having some kind of picnic over at the Africana Library and they're playing rap music. It's not that I don't like rap music (which I don't), it's just that when you listen to it from a distance and through a window, all you can hear is the base. So there is no melody or words, but this annoyingly steady beat constantly going on. But I have my giant bag of assorted candies to comfort me.
Yesterday was Slope Day at Cornell. They festive day that marks the end of classes with boozing and general college debauchery. This year Gym Class Heroes, Hot Hot Heat, and... some other one-hit wonder band came and performed to the masses. The performance was considerably better than last year (T.I... bleh!). And thus my sophomore year (almost) ended, in one 24 hour haze of drunks and lukewarm pretzels (can solids be described as lukewarm?) and one failed physics tests and a rockin' chimes concert.
(P.S. Apparently "Umbrella" has been arranged for chimes... excellent.)
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