I am Better
12 years ago
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Terror.
I just had a brush with death- my roommate and I tried to bring the cats to the vet clinic and it was, hands down, the most terrifying experience of my life. The female cat doesn't genearlly meow much, but she does a really convincing impression of a bear that's been kicked in the middle of a snow storm during hibernation. MRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRWWWWW. Boy cat was really reasonable and only presented moderate resistance (spread eagle across the door like a flying squirrel that didn't notice a window). After using the arm of the couch I had the carrier propped against as a monorail track a few times, I got him in and he didn't offer to punch holes in me which I appreciated- but girl cat was just having none of it. Letting her figure out that the carrier was where she was destined to go in the first time I tried to just pick her up and put her in sparked a reaction that was something akin to what happens to Edward Norton in the Incredible Hulk. After some negotiation that she was not at all interested in, we were asking the question: How many graduate students does it take to get an obviously angry cat armed with exacto knives into a carrier (without losing something vital, like most of the blood in your circulatory system after she gets done with you)? When I gathered the nerve to try and catch her as she ran past, I missed, and then caught her in the hallway, halfway up the wall (the WALL)- I really don't know how this happened, but like Houdini, girl cat apparently flies. By this point, I had on long sleeves and gloves and had to pick her up with a towel. I thought she was going to kill me! But we made it to the clinic on time, and the vet says it's not particularly uncommon for cats to show up in things like laundry hampers so I didn't feel so bad about the fact that the only thing we had big enough to get the cat into without getting killed was the kitchen garbage bin. When the vet asked her to after the exam, she dutifully walked into the carrier. It's safe to say that I lost a fair amount (all) of my dignity in the affair.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
FIX YOU
I'm listening to the kind of music nobody in their right mind admits to listening to. It's rock music performed by a cello ensemble. While I love the rendition of Journey "Don't Stop Believin'" and "Sympathy for the Devil" what got me the most was this song I'd never heard the name of- Fix You. It turns out that it's by some band called Coldplay (yes, I live in a vacuum and had no idea). But this song... It rises in this subtle way from a rather unremarkable melody to an incredible chorus of harmonized voices. It's as though you can feel the resonance building in your skin, and then it breaks and something that you didn't know was in you is drawn to the surface. Depending on the time of day, it brings with it joy or weeping to the surface.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Cats + Sponges = fungus.
Sometimes when you do stupid things like clean your dishes with the same sponge you use to clean your counters, you boost your immune system. Other times, you unwittingly give yourself fungal infections. I wish I was joking.
So my rent-a-cats like going on every flat surface in my house, including my counters and table. I recently discovered that they were still doing this, and that the funny marks I'd been wiping up were pawprints. What I'd like to know is how the bleeding hell did I make it out of the jungle without bringing home something living on me and that was mildly parasitic, but come back to Cambridge and get a cat or two and suddenly there it is, it's a critter that just popped up like a daisy in spring. It's hanging out on my arm. I'm almost positive it's a fungus. I'm more than a little horrified. I've had a few spots for awhile now but.... eee........... this one in particular is making me unhappy. I mentioned it to a friend last night and they didn't look terribly impressed. What can I say, I'm a classy sort of dame.
So my rent-a-cats like going on every flat surface in my house, including my counters and table. I recently discovered that they were still doing this, and that the funny marks I'd been wiping up were pawprints. What I'd like to know is how the bleeding hell did I make it out of the jungle without bringing home something living on me and that was mildly parasitic, but come back to Cambridge and get a cat or two and suddenly there it is, it's a critter that just popped up like a daisy in spring. It's hanging out on my arm. I'm almost positive it's a fungus. I'm more than a little horrified. I've had a few spots for awhile now but.... eee........... this one in particular is making me unhappy. I mentioned it to a friend last night and they didn't look terribly impressed. What can I say, I'm a classy sort of dame.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
I Hate Shopping of Any Kind so I Act Like a Jerk to Amuse Myself
I inherited a behavior from my mother. I talk at people at random. and at length. Also, I embarass my sister in public. I mean, I don't go so far as to sing opera (oh yes, my mother SINGS OPERA if you get pissy in the store) but I do use underwear as ammunition and make fun of ugly clothing. I believe there's a picture from my friend's bachelorette party when we're in Foxwoods and I'm making faces at a silicone bra stuffer- but that's another story.
On this particular occassion, my roommate succeeded in getting me out of the house to have a few beers with her and friends at one of my favorite watering holes. It was a lot of fun, the girls are such great people- and as usual, the evening was punctuated by some of my bad decisions. Bad decision (or awesome depends on how you look at it) number 1, having 5 Guinnesses (Guinni?) in 2 hours. Bad decision number 2, but possibly not bad, deciding that the 24 hour Shaws is the next stop. We needed frozen pizza and creamscicles.
Having already prefaced this story by outlining my random talking and inclination towards embarrasing behavior in public spaces, I guess we can get straight into it. The last time I picked up a frozen pizza was a similar occassion with my summer roommate whom I love. She made it clear to me, at the time, that the delux pizza had not only the most crap on it, but was the cheapest and therefore the best bang for your buck. I decided that this wisdom should be shared, not only with my current roommate on our current excursion, but the poor man sharing the frozen food isle with us at 1 o'clock in the morning. He had already made the unfortunate mistake of suggesting his usual pizza. Of course, I had to tell him that thank you for your suggestion, but my decision is made, and also better, and here's why. This was followed by a comparison of price, size, etc, and that, ok, so I usually institute a rule of not eating things that have more than 5 ingredients or things I can't pronounce, but in this case it's acceptable. My roommate went and got some margarine, which I also made a show of berating, because I was in "I hate stores" mode and told her that there was real butter in the freezer, and in droves, and proved my point as to why the margarine was bad by attempting to read off the ingredients that I couldn't pronounce. However, the guy in the isle, who was by now invested in the conversation/ordeal he'd unwittingly sucked himself into, turned out to be a nutrition and something something food healthy whatever grad student, and read the ingredients and said that actually, it was okay to eat this. You may or may not know that I have a really terrible obsession with I Can't Believe it's Not Butter but when I'm in this mood, it doesn't matter if I'm being hypocritical and also inappropriate. I swiped the margarine and told him to stop encouraging this behavior. My roommate eventually realized that this wasn't going to stop by my accord, and encouraged heading for the check out line with "I'm tired and I need to eat this pizza, we're going home." Probably a wise move because I wasn't going to stop being embarrasing unless somebody else said something. I mean, it looked like he had a thing for her, so my reasoning at the time was that if we stuck around, something would happen.
On this particular occassion, my roommate succeeded in getting me out of the house to have a few beers with her and friends at one of my favorite watering holes. It was a lot of fun, the girls are such great people- and as usual, the evening was punctuated by some of my bad decisions. Bad decision (or awesome depends on how you look at it) number 1, having 5 Guinnesses (Guinni?) in 2 hours. Bad decision number 2, but possibly not bad, deciding that the 24 hour Shaws is the next stop. We needed frozen pizza and creamscicles.
Having already prefaced this story by outlining my random talking and inclination towards embarrasing behavior in public spaces, I guess we can get straight into it. The last time I picked up a frozen pizza was a similar occassion with my summer roommate whom I love. She made it clear to me, at the time, that the delux pizza had not only the most crap on it, but was the cheapest and therefore the best bang for your buck. I decided that this wisdom should be shared, not only with my current roommate on our current excursion, but the poor man sharing the frozen food isle with us at 1 o'clock in the morning. He had already made the unfortunate mistake of suggesting his usual pizza. Of course, I had to tell him that thank you for your suggestion, but my decision is made, and also better, and here's why. This was followed by a comparison of price, size, etc, and that, ok, so I usually institute a rule of not eating things that have more than 5 ingredients or things I can't pronounce, but in this case it's acceptable. My roommate went and got some margarine, which I also made a show of berating, because I was in "I hate stores" mode and told her that there was real butter in the freezer, and in droves, and proved my point as to why the margarine was bad by attempting to read off the ingredients that I couldn't pronounce. However, the guy in the isle, who was by now invested in the conversation/ordeal he'd unwittingly sucked himself into, turned out to be a nutrition and something something food healthy whatever grad student, and read the ingredients and said that actually, it was okay to eat this. You may or may not know that I have a really terrible obsession with I Can't Believe it's Not Butter but when I'm in this mood, it doesn't matter if I'm being hypocritical and also inappropriate. I swiped the margarine and told him to stop encouraging this behavior. My roommate eventually realized that this wasn't going to stop by my accord, and encouraged heading for the check out line with "I'm tired and I need to eat this pizza, we're going home." Probably a wise move because I wasn't going to stop being embarrasing unless somebody else said something. I mean, it looked like he had a thing for her, so my reasoning at the time was that if we stuck around, something would happen.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Continued Adventures in Rent-a-Cat Land
Things have lagged a little but it was because I suffered some temporary idiocy and thought I had scurvy but seriously, outside of 18th century pirates, who the hell gets that? Saw a doctor today and funny enough, not scurvy. Fell asleep in the waiting room of UHS but since there aren't backs to the chair, I woke up leaning on some poor guy wearing a flu mask. It was stellar. As always, there are new developments in rent-a-cat land.
1) Cats can poo at will and without limits. On that note, time spent in conversation in the general viscinity of the cat box is directly related to the number of visits a cat will make. The longer you talk, the more use the shovel will get and sooner.
2) The only food that may be consumed processually and directly from the fridgeration unit is ice cream because it can be eaten while standing and the carton may remain out of easily accessible cat reach as the freezer is rather high. It is nolonger acceptable to be lazy and assemble other food products in front of the fridge. Putting the bowl of Cheerios on the floor in front of the fridge to pour milk in it so that you only have to make one trip across the kitchen instead of two will not save you any energy because it will inevitably end up with curious cat face in it and you will need to get a new bowl anyway.
3) You may not think that the toilet is a wading pool, and you may be of the opinion that there aren't fish in it. but if the seat isn't down, nobody with 4 paws and fur believes you.
1) Cats can poo at will and without limits. On that note, time spent in conversation in the general viscinity of the cat box is directly related to the number of visits a cat will make. The longer you talk, the more use the shovel will get and sooner.
2) The only food that may be consumed processually and directly from the fridgeration unit is ice cream because it can be eaten while standing and the carton may remain out of easily accessible cat reach as the freezer is rather high. It is nolonger acceptable to be lazy and assemble other food products in front of the fridge. Putting the bowl of Cheerios on the floor in front of the fridge to pour milk in it so that you only have to make one trip across the kitchen instead of two will not save you any energy because it will inevitably end up with curious cat face in it and you will need to get a new bowl anyway.
3) You may not think that the toilet is a wading pool, and you may be of the opinion that there aren't fish in it. but if the seat isn't down, nobody with 4 paws and fur believes you.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Pandora's Travel Mug
Somebody once told me that it gets easier. "It" must be the proverbial representation of life. While I'm really not complaining, and I like my life, that somebody definitely lied to me because I'll be damned if ANYTHING is getting easier. Every semester, I hear and then think in kind, this will be easier. Things will let up. Um, that's not true at all. My first year was mostly just figuring out how to acclimate. Then it was preparing for my major exams. Then it was making up for the fact that I just didn't "get it" (it being the transition) and had to make up for it- and what I'm finding is that things don't swap out for me, they just accumulate. So I'm not replacing one part of hell with another, I'm just getting a pile of things that will eventually, inevitably fall over. This semester, I get 4 classes, I get to teach 2, and write my proposal for my dissertation, and prepare for the exams (again). I'm not sure that I'm going to come out alive, but my advisor seems to think I can handle it and I respect him tremendously, so I'll put my faith in that if not in myself.
So anyway, I decided that what I really needed was some coffee. There's a travel mug on my desk. I haven't had coffee in a long time, at least not at the point where I drink it like I should have an IV- and I can't remember the last time I had coffee out of this mug in particular. I'm going to put it this way, if I could go back in time and stop myself from opening the mug, thereby preserving both my dignity and innocence, I would because coffee should, in my mind, never be a solid again after it's been ground and should also never breed critters. If Pandora had a modern day equivalent, that box would've taken the form of this mug. Oh yes, oh yes. it was that bad.
So anyway, I decided that what I really needed was some coffee. There's a travel mug on my desk. I haven't had coffee in a long time, at least not at the point where I drink it like I should have an IV- and I can't remember the last time I had coffee out of this mug in particular. I'm going to put it this way, if I could go back in time and stop myself from opening the mug, thereby preserving both my dignity and innocence, I would because coffee should, in my mind, never be a solid again after it's been ground and should also never breed critters. If Pandora had a modern day equivalent, that box would've taken the form of this mug. Oh yes, oh yes. it was that bad.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Cat-r-wall
I had an amazing new adventure with my rent-a-cats today. Well, okay, mostly just the one. We're beyond Houdini though, this cat apparates through walls, Harry Potter style. That's right, this cat could probably kick Dumbledore's ass. I wish I was joking, because that would make my life less terrifying. Honestly, the cats are great, but I live in fear of losing them somewhere and then having to explain to the legitimate owners that "Oh hey, about your cat..." My cohabitation is more or less pleasantly cute and fluffy, punctuated by moments of extreme terror.
I decided to do laundry because it's been awhile, and the cat accompanied me down the stairs. Usually, it does no good to try and keep him away from the basement because he'll inevitably end up down there regardless of the measures I take. Why? Because he's Harry-freaking-Potter, that's why. Anyway, we have an arrangement where I let him play downstairs and he lets me know when he's gotten bored of it. I used to try herding him around to get him upstairs but herding a cat in a cluttered basement is less than fun, and certainly not easy. Also, if I stand around and wait for him to get tired of the dust bunnies on his face, this doesn't happen and he finds them SO grossly interesting that they multiply to spangle all of his whiskers.
He never "knocked" so I went for a run. When I returned, he was still not at the door, so I ventured down after him to try and convince him that playtime was over. This didn't happen because he wasn't down there. I tried poking through my neighbor's side of the basement... and tried really hard in a paranoid sort of way not to look sketchy. This was a challenge because there is no way, in hell, that you can avoid looking sketchy when you're going through someone else's stuff and get caught. I didn't get caught, and anyway, my efforts were to no avail. I noticed though, that the door to the neighbor's side of the house was open. I tried constructing a request in my head that was appropriate for 9 am. "Hello, excuse me, did you happen to see a large black cat apparate through your door? I've lost mine. Yes, you see, he walks through solid barriers."
I did not, however, actually have to knock on the door because he wasn't behind it. He was actually over my head. by roughly 6 feet. in the stairwell. Let me just explain that the walls of the stairwell are flat. there are no shelves, hooks, or wires. Apparently, this cat can also fly. About 20 minutes of coaxing and the majority of my dignity later, the cat still wasn't out of the ceiling and I decided taht this must be because he was stuck. I did the next logical thing and got a ladder. I got my camera first, perhaps not the most constructive idea ever. I set the ladder up National Lampoon style in the stairwell, and I'm pretty well convinced that if the neighbors had opened their door at any point during this process, they would have unhesitatingly called the cops.
Upon reaching the apex of this precarious situation, I looked up and discovered that there was, in fact, no cat. He was gone. And there I was, wondering what the hell I was I doing in a Ph.D. program when I couldn't even figure out how the hell a cat got into the ceiling (yes, I am fully aware of how insane that sounds). When I heard a meow. On the other side of the door I had just closed. He was sitting on the other side of it on the floor, looking as though he'd been waiting for hours for me to get everything figured out. I'm pretty sure that this is goign to cost me my sanity.
I decided to do laundry because it's been awhile, and the cat accompanied me down the stairs. Usually, it does no good to try and keep him away from the basement because he'll inevitably end up down there regardless of the measures I take. Why? Because he's Harry-freaking-Potter, that's why. Anyway, we have an arrangement where I let him play downstairs and he lets me know when he's gotten bored of it. I used to try herding him around to get him upstairs but herding a cat in a cluttered basement is less than fun, and certainly not easy. Also, if I stand around and wait for him to get tired of the dust bunnies on his face, this doesn't happen and he finds them SO grossly interesting that they multiply to spangle all of his whiskers.
He never "knocked" so I went for a run. When I returned, he was still not at the door, so I ventured down after him to try and convince him that playtime was over. This didn't happen because he wasn't down there. I tried poking through my neighbor's side of the basement... and tried really hard in a paranoid sort of way not to look sketchy. This was a challenge because there is no way, in hell, that you can avoid looking sketchy when you're going through someone else's stuff and get caught. I didn't get caught, and anyway, my efforts were to no avail. I noticed though, that the door to the neighbor's side of the house was open. I tried constructing a request in my head that was appropriate for 9 am. "Hello, excuse me, did you happen to see a large black cat apparate through your door? I've lost mine. Yes, you see, he walks through solid barriers."
I did not, however, actually have to knock on the door because he wasn't behind it. He was actually over my head. by roughly 6 feet. in the stairwell. Let me just explain that the walls of the stairwell are flat. there are no shelves, hooks, or wires. Apparently, this cat can also fly. About 20 minutes of coaxing and the majority of my dignity later, the cat still wasn't out of the ceiling and I decided taht this must be because he was stuck. I did the next logical thing and got a ladder. I got my camera first, perhaps not the most constructive idea ever. I set the ladder up National Lampoon style in the stairwell, and I'm pretty well convinced that if the neighbors had opened their door at any point during this process, they would have unhesitatingly called the cops.
Upon reaching the apex of this precarious situation, I looked up and discovered that there was, in fact, no cat. He was gone. And there I was, wondering what the hell I was I doing in a Ph.D. program when I couldn't even figure out how the hell a cat got into the ceiling (yes, I am fully aware of how insane that sounds). When I heard a meow. On the other side of the door I had just closed. He was sitting on the other side of it on the floor, looking as though he'd been waiting for hours for me to get everything figured out. I'm pretty sure that this is goign to cost me my sanity.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Well hello, did you get those on sale at Old Navy? Me too!
You've probably noticed by now that I tend to approach everything in life with a certain amount of humor. I read once that you shouldn't laugh at everything because it trivializes things that shouldn't be trivialized. That might be true, but let's think about this... Just because you can find a way to laugh at the situation, it doesn't mean that you're trivializing it. Besides, what's the alternative to laughing? Crying? Anyway, you don't have to laugh "at" things, you can laugh "about" them. There is a difference, believe me. Dating is, however, one of those things you you have to laugh AT, and it's necessary because if I don't find a way of laughing at it, I'm going to abandon the idea of relationships altogether and go become a nun. it's been brought to my attention that I have a few idiosyncrasies that make dating a little odd for me. As mentioned a few posts ago, I have gotten dating out of my system for the most part. This is fortuitous because this crap makes me irritable. No I haven't dropped the idea of a relationship maybe someday being not such an inconvenient thing, but I have dropped the idea of bothering to go and find one now for various reasons.
I've ranted about before, I revisited the world of socially-functional-people-who-date a little while back. I may not have said it explicitly, but I'm pretty sure I have implied (strongly), that I make bad decisions. This isn't even just on the dating front, or on the choice of wardrobe- because I make bad decisions all around. When you combine all of these elements, you see me living in a snowglobe of things that should just not happen. I'll lend some insight into why I am a disaster.
I've ranted about before, I revisited the world of socially-functional-people-who-date a little while back. I may not have said it explicitly, but I'm pretty sure I have implied (strongly), that I make bad decisions. This isn't even just on the dating front, or on the choice of wardrobe- because I make bad decisions all around. When you combine all of these elements, you see me living in a snowglobe of things that should just not happen. I'll lend some insight into why I am a disaster.
About a week ago, my lovely roommate invited me out to dinner with her and a friend. As we were getting dressed she mentioned that she really liked my jeans on me. When her hint apparently sailed completely unnoticed over my head, no more than briefly tripping over my oblivious "why, thank you!", she more pointedly told me that I should probably put them on because maybe, just maybe, it'd be a nice idea for me to wear womens' jeans as opposed to my usual mens' Old Navy shorts because in case it had escaped my notice, I was, in fact, not a man.
Some might argue that it is problematic when you show up to a date, and you realize that you own the same pants as the pair currently sported by the man you've just met- and you are a straight female. For a number of years, I've been informed that my habit of dress, or rather, complete lack of style and inability to adhere to social norms on an even quasi-regular basis, is strange, if not downright weird. I recently attempted, at the encouragement of my roommate and other women who know "what's up", to dress like a woman, at least for dating purposes. Because, honestly, what man wants to show up to a date to find that they're dating a slightly feminine version of himself? I'm sure you remember my discussion on hating clothes shopping? Well, men's clothing is a lot more sturdy, and if it takes longer to destroy it, it lasts in the field, then it's good enough for the office and I can delay shopping for replacements for even longer.
A few weeks ago when I went to see a man I met on a dating website. Just for the record, yes, online dating is weird, but when you live like a small rodent operating in a windowless office that is, minus the large spiders and dampness, a freaking cave, from whatever time you drag yourself out of your house in the morning until after dark at night, everyday (that's right, this includes an inability to recognize weekends or observe most holidays), how/where the hell else are you going to meet somebody? In the cave next door? Oh yeah, that's a brilliant idea just waiting to happen... But to swerve back on track, I wore a skirt. There was compromising involved. My roommate confirmed that I looked both acceptable and like myself as I combined the skirt with my usual button down field shirt. Come on, I wouldn't be me if I was dressed totally like a girl, now would I?
He was a nice guy, I hope he finds what he's looking for, which I believe is a lot- and as "not-right" a fit as we were, I think he deserves someone really wonderful. He found humor in everything, but with what I felt like was a touch of sadness. It was him in his words, but at the same time, it wasn't. I almost said as much, that I imagined he was actually a very serious person and he looked at me without surprise at my observation. "Aren't the most amused people the most serious?" He might not have realized it at the time, but the fact that I agreed with him wasn't because I was trying to be pleasant and affable, but because it resonated true. Consequently, I was being uncomfortably not-myself by attempting to dress passably as a woman for something that I never, in my right mind, would dress up for (oh wait, the norm means I wouldn't be on a date in the first place... what am I thinking?!) and feeling awkward about it. My brief experience with him indirectly set off the subject of this entry. My roommate lent her own insight into my dating situation (overall) and lucky for you and me, thought when we had him over for dinner that his style was as ridiculous as mine.
She was only here for a few months, most of which I was away for, but the only way to describe her is... she's a really unique person with a gift for making other people feel special. I miss her. Funny enough, she was not a fan of this man, and saw what I hadn't bothered to acknowledge, and believe it or not, it wasn't centered on my idiosyncratic style, but rather my inability to correct my behavioral approach to dating: he and I had nothing in common, were in two completely different walks of life, so what the hell was the problem, why was I still keeping up the charade of pleasant dating? She pointed out that yes, he was nice, but this shouldn't mean that I should keep seeing him; was I dating him because I wanted to or because it was there and convenient, was he really a good fit or did it just look good in theory, did I really want to be with somebody who was so concerned about things that were obviously the opposite of my concerns, yes it had only been a few dates but I should probably ask that question about "where's this going" now because he just said he was moving across the country and for pity's sake, couldn't I date somebody who didn't have two earrings? Her mother, who was visiting, asked quite seriously "Did they accidentally pierce the wrong ear and then go back and do the other?" I kind of appreciate a man who can pull off an earring, but I try not to admit that out loud. Anyway, she had a point, we weren't terribly intrigued by one another. I wasn't sure how to end it nicely and directly, so I did it indirectly and hilariously. Want to scare a man? Ask him to figure out how he feels about commitment early on.
Anyway, she and I had a talk about the previously mentioned man and his and my conversation plays into it a bit. I'm frequently fairly private about things, but she taught me that sometimes you have to be open. She noticed that I have a habit of letting things go, and therefore, while I'm pretty introspective, continue to make the same mistakes in relationships even though I recognize that I'm making them. I date people who are really not a fit, and I know that, and they're nice people (sometimes) but it's not going to work. I'll throw this out there as I frequently do, the definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.
I have a few people to thank for their impacts on my mental processes, including that guy who I haven't spoken to and probably never will again (sorry about making that last conversation a freak show, I doubt you thought it was funny, but I sure as hell did). My roommate, of course. And somebody else who didn't seem to mind that I go everywhere in men's shorts and 3-sizes-too-big button downs. I'm undoubtedly going to stick with my current habits of dressing lackadaisically but maybe with special appearances in my womens' H&M jeans. I won't give away the ending just yet. I actually have no idea what it will be.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Living with Cats as a Non Cat Person
I am currently the renter of two lovely cats. Let me set this up: My sister is the cat person. She had one named Carmel that she'd carry in a backpack and would play fetch with her. I am allergic to cats (along with everything that has a pulse or pollen) and am more of a big ugly dog kinda gal. But these cats are nice. They belong to a colleague of mine and his wife who are away in the field for the next year. They had been prepared to bring the cats with them for part of the trip to leave them with a family member- preparations including installing chicken wire in the back of their car for a UFC style cage. It was amazing. So I offered and was happy to have them.
What I have learned in my first days as a temporary cat owner...
1) the girl cat and I cannot sleep in the same room. The status of this decision will be reassessed at a later date once she has settled in and become more acquainted with the new environment. Right now, she doesn't recognized that my face is different from the mattress and tends to stand on it at inopportune times, such as 3 AM when I am trying to sleep.
2) the boy cat is Houdini reincarnated. He can open cabinets without opposable thumbs, and compress his body to fit through 3 inch spaces. This is quite a feat, because he is quite a substantial cat. I discovered this last night after I tore my house apart looking for him. I opened the back door to find him, much to my horror, sitting expectantly on the other side of it. Windows are now opened exclusively from the top. Actually, my roommate and I had held a powwow over the bathroom window a few days before, in the bathroom, which is about on par with a 2 by 3 janitorial closet. We figured it was too high and too thin a space for him to get through. WRONG.
3) both cats appreciate singing.
4) both cats are apparently tone deaf, because I know I sure am, but they seem to enjoy it all the same.
I decided to send the cat owners weekly status reports. This first report included essentially what I have written above. Hopefully, my office does not discover that I might be eccentric as a result.
Cheers!
What I have learned in my first days as a temporary cat owner...
1) the girl cat and I cannot sleep in the same room. The status of this decision will be reassessed at a later date once she has settled in and become more acquainted with the new environment. Right now, she doesn't recognized that my face is different from the mattress and tends to stand on it at inopportune times, such as 3 AM when I am trying to sleep.
2) the boy cat is Houdini reincarnated. He can open cabinets without opposable thumbs, and compress his body to fit through 3 inch spaces. This is quite a feat, because he is quite a substantial cat. I discovered this last night after I tore my house apart looking for him. I opened the back door to find him, much to my horror, sitting expectantly on the other side of it. Windows are now opened exclusively from the top. Actually, my roommate and I had held a powwow over the bathroom window a few days before, in the bathroom, which is about on par with a 2 by 3 janitorial closet. We figured it was too high and too thin a space for him to get through. WRONG.
3) both cats appreciate singing.
4) both cats are apparently tone deaf, because I know I sure am, but they seem to enjoy it all the same.
I decided to send the cat owners weekly status reports. This first report included essentially what I have written above. Hopefully, my office does not discover that I might be eccentric as a result.
Cheers!
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Using "nigh" in a sentence.
For the last several weeks now, I've appeared on a radio show. I channel the persona: George. George is a Maya shaman who helps people find their balance with the earth and cosmos through pilgrimage and new age-y hocus pocus once they've had balance tipping experiences like liposuction. Because, really, once you've had the fat removed from your keister and injected into your face, how can you be anything but out of sync with the universe at large? ...of course my name isn't really George. That'd be ridiculous. It's Jorge.
It's occurred to me that most of the things I make up and spout out over the air waves in that one hour a week are totally socially unacceptable and the least PC ideas to promote ever. Essentially, if anybody at my office actually listened to this at some point, I'm pretty sure that I'd be in deep crap.
Last week I believe we got into the subject of male lactation. This most recent show was pretty firmly centered on how man feels like an island despite all of the social connection crap like twitter and facebook. I am proud to say that I do not twitter or tweet or whatever that's called. Okay, so I facebook, but I'm working on that. It's going to take a 12 step program, I know it.
Anyway, what this leads to is that the last month or so has been an incredible learning experience. I moved into my new house with new roommates and they're the most amazing individuals I've ever met. I'm typically a little socially withdrawn, a hermit if you will. Sure, I gave a speech in college about how my comfort zone is not having one and that likewise you should challenge yourself to go and seek out new places, people, experiences... Why yes, I do love traveling. I thoroughly enjoy going someplace new with no language skills (up until I need to find a public restroom, then it's like the most uncomfortable game of charades ever). I like meeting new people... as a part of my JOB. On my own time, I usually stay in, and savor the solitude. While that's good me time, it doesn't make for a terribly socially functional person. My roommates have challenged me to go out, to get to know people, and all the while, to be myself. Extravagantly.
In all seriousness though, I'm pretty lucky. I thought I was past that stage of making lifelong friends but I was clearly and happily mistaken. I'm also in denial because one of them is leaving to go back home- home that's across the continent. It's safe to say that I'm about to be devastated.
Now for your viewing amusement... hopefully the link works.... I've been fiddling with the damn thing for nigh an hour.
http://www.ted.com/talks/elaine_morgan_says_we_evolved_from_aquatic_apes.html
It's occurred to me that most of the things I make up and spout out over the air waves in that one hour a week are totally socially unacceptable and the least PC ideas to promote ever. Essentially, if anybody at my office actually listened to this at some point, I'm pretty sure that I'd be in deep crap.
Last week I believe we got into the subject of male lactation. This most recent show was pretty firmly centered on how man feels like an island despite all of the social connection crap like twitter and facebook. I am proud to say that I do not twitter or tweet or whatever that's called. Okay, so I facebook, but I'm working on that. It's going to take a 12 step program, I know it.
Anyway, what this leads to is that the last month or so has been an incredible learning experience. I moved into my new house with new roommates and they're the most amazing individuals I've ever met. I'm typically a little socially withdrawn, a hermit if you will. Sure, I gave a speech in college about how my comfort zone is not having one and that likewise you should challenge yourself to go and seek out new places, people, experiences... Why yes, I do love traveling. I thoroughly enjoy going someplace new with no language skills (up until I need to find a public restroom, then it's like the most uncomfortable game of charades ever). I like meeting new people... as a part of my JOB. On my own time, I usually stay in, and savor the solitude. While that's good me time, it doesn't make for a terribly socially functional person. My roommates have challenged me to go out, to get to know people, and all the while, to be myself. Extravagantly.
In all seriousness though, I'm pretty lucky. I thought I was past that stage of making lifelong friends but I was clearly and happily mistaken. I'm also in denial because one of them is leaving to go back home- home that's across the continent. It's safe to say that I'm about to be devastated.
Now for your viewing amusement... hopefully the link works.... I've been fiddling with the damn thing for nigh an hour.
http://www.ted.com/talks/elaine_morgan_says_we_evolved_from_aquatic_apes.html
Thursday, August 13, 2009
...Because it seemed like a good idea at the time.
That really is the name of the game, isn't it? It seemed like a good idea at the time- that's why we're doing anything that we're doing. "Why are you in the field that you are?" "because it seemed like a good idea at the time." "why were you running with scissors?" "...it seemed like a good idea at the time." "What happened to your hand? is that a machete? what were you doing with the machete?" "...it seemed like a good idea at the time?"
As you can see from the somewhat frightening train of thought displayed in the previous paragraph, there's a running trend right now in my life- I mean aside from the ongoing trend of various school work-related issues inducing feelings of wanting to impulsively play in traffic. Life is ridiculous. There's just no way around it. Currently, this stems from the "It seemed like a good idea at the time... to go on that date." Believe you me, it pretty much never is. I know, I know, the gypsy woman at Quincy Market promised I'd be getting married soon so why give up now? I'm pretty sure that given the trajectory of the current trend that this would be a poor move, and much more on the side of an error worthy of a Greek tragedy than a blessing. I wish I was joking. Luckily for you, I'm not.
Yes, I recently ventured back into dating. Possibly 'nough said. But I'll continue. Harkening back (is that even a valid phrase? Oh well it is now) to my last post yet again, the gypsy woman's blessing/prophetization (might also be a made up word) is turning out to be such that I might be justified in going back and demanding a refund. I mean, I can't because I don't actually want to get married. Heck, I don't even really want to force it, but situationally, online dating "seemed like a good idea at the time." Anyway, the dress she sold me was pretty.
But what leads to this being a good idea at the time? I'll pose the question: When you're back from a country that's 12 time zones away with the mother of all jetlags, you have no money, no ID, no credit card, what do you do? I'll tell you: if you're single, you sit at your computer at 4 o'clock in the morning because for you it's technically the middle of the afternoon and you're not seeing the backs of your eyelids anytime soon regardless of how tired and delirious you actually are. Then when you see one of those creepy ads on your e-mail sidebar (you know, the ones that mirror the content of your latest e-mails? you tell your friend "I like peas" and you end up with ads all over the place spouting headlines about "fresh produce!" "organic peas!" "green dye!" and my personal favorite "find peas in the yellow pages!") that says: "make a free profile," you do it. Why? because it seems like a good idea at the time- note that in order for it to be a good idea, that time is when you're jetlagged beyond coherency and you can't focus enough to do something constructive like read, and everything else in the city is closed.
So what am I doing? Nothing anymore. I seem to be getting the attempt out of my system. It's sort of like giving birth, as it's been explained to me. You forget the insanity of your last "relationship" almost immediately (bunny ears are necessary in this case). Well, I cyclically will attempt to date, then turn unhappy when they realize "oh weird, you really are going to keep up this prolonged adolescence with this ridiculous job, aren't you? can you like, not?" and then I will run for cover. After awhile I'll forget (because I have the memory retention prowess of a domesticated gold fish) and think "huh, that wasn't really so bad, maybe I'll give it another shot". Then all hell breaks loose and I throw up my hands and wonder what ailed my head enough to make me think that that was ever a good idea. Okay so it's not like that right now, but it's not my favorite place to be ever. I'm going to have to see that gypsy woman about a blessing or remedy or some such to ward off the selective amnesia.
As you can see from the somewhat frightening train of thought displayed in the previous paragraph, there's a running trend right now in my life- I mean aside from the ongoing trend of various school work-related issues inducing feelings of wanting to impulsively play in traffic. Life is ridiculous. There's just no way around it. Currently, this stems from the "It seemed like a good idea at the time... to go on that date." Believe you me, it pretty much never is. I know, I know, the gypsy woman at Quincy Market promised I'd be getting married soon so why give up now? I'm pretty sure that given the trajectory of the current trend that this would be a poor move, and much more on the side of an error worthy of a Greek tragedy than a blessing. I wish I was joking. Luckily for you, I'm not.
Yes, I recently ventured back into dating. Possibly 'nough said. But I'll continue. Harkening back (is that even a valid phrase? Oh well it is now) to my last post yet again, the gypsy woman's blessing/prophetization (might also be a made up word) is turning out to be such that I might be justified in going back and demanding a refund. I mean, I can't because I don't actually want to get married. Heck, I don't even really want to force it, but situationally, online dating "seemed like a good idea at the time." Anyway, the dress she sold me was pretty.
But what leads to this being a good idea at the time? I'll pose the question: When you're back from a country that's 12 time zones away with the mother of all jetlags, you have no money, no ID, no credit card, what do you do? I'll tell you: if you're single, you sit at your computer at 4 o'clock in the morning because for you it's technically the middle of the afternoon and you're not seeing the backs of your eyelids anytime soon regardless of how tired and delirious you actually are. Then when you see one of those creepy ads on your e-mail sidebar (you know, the ones that mirror the content of your latest e-mails? you tell your friend "I like peas" and you end up with ads all over the place spouting headlines about "fresh produce!" "organic peas!" "green dye!" and my personal favorite "find peas in the yellow pages!") that says: "make a free profile," you do it. Why? because it seems like a good idea at the time- note that in order for it to be a good idea, that time is when you're jetlagged beyond coherency and you can't focus enough to do something constructive like read, and everything else in the city is closed.
So what am I doing? Nothing anymore. I seem to be getting the attempt out of my system. It's sort of like giving birth, as it's been explained to me. You forget the insanity of your last "relationship" almost immediately (bunny ears are necessary in this case). Well, I cyclically will attempt to date, then turn unhappy when they realize "oh weird, you really are going to keep up this prolonged adolescence with this ridiculous job, aren't you? can you like, not?" and then I will run for cover. After awhile I'll forget (because I have the memory retention prowess of a domesticated gold fish) and think "huh, that wasn't really so bad, maybe I'll give it another shot". Then all hell breaks loose and I throw up my hands and wonder what ailed my head enough to make me think that that was ever a good idea. Okay so it's not like that right now, but it's not my favorite place to be ever. I'm going to have to see that gypsy woman about a blessing or remedy or some such to ward off the selective amnesia.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
What's in the Water?
Has anybody else noticed that EVERYBODY is getting married/engaged/having babies? No, seriously, there are albums all over facebook of surprise weddings that I never saw coming. I'm not the only one who feels like this is a frightening development and that maybe there is something in the water. Por ejemplo: I was talking to my oldest friend about this, and mentioned, "oh did you see that so-and-so got married?" there was a pause, followed by "...To a man?" "I know, right?"
I'm not saying I need to get married, I'm just sort of surprised. But I have been in 2 weddings and am coming up on my third performance next October. Yes, it's a performance. If it sees me in a dress, with make up and shoes other than sandals, then it's a performance. I liked those weddings though, probably because I know the people and love them dearly. What's that saying? Three times a bridesmaid? Oh well, it happens.
1) Back when I was a teenager, I was in my lovely cousin's wedding. It was great, my uncle had a string trio/quartet/gang of string instrumentalists play at the reception. At some point they played a Celtic set and the groom and his family (they're Irish) hit the floor step dancing. I was impressed.
2) Last year, I was in a childhood friend's wedding. That was a spectacular endeavor, let me tell you. I got fitted for the dress and then promptly left for the field. All summer. I went from France to Turkey to Guatemala to Honduras and it was a little on the ridiculous side. Last time I went to Guatemala I came back about 20 pounds heavier. I know right? I went from 115 to 135. I'm pretty sure that was horrendous. Okay so gaining a few inches (or like 5) on my waist wasn't my favorite, but really, the horrifying part was that I had to buy new clothes. Let's just say that I'm not a fan of shopping. when you hate shopping or being around a lot of people, suddenly being faced with the fact that you have to replace ALL of your pants feels what I would imagine knowing you're about to be hit by a car feels like- you've just walked into the cross walk and realized that car just isn't stopping... I mean, especially when you've spent the last 20 years getting away with wearing what mom brings home (from 6th grade...), and hand me downs from your god mother's sons (things that I love and STILL keep in my closet).
I mean, part of this phobia comes from the fact that mom insists every article of clothing, and therefore all pairs of pants, are sewn differently. Yes, I still go shopping with my mom when I have to get clothes. 1) if she left it up to me, I'd put it out of my mind and it'd just never get done 2) if I am forced into doing it out of necessity by myself, odds are that I can't be trusted and will botch it somehow. Well, I'm improving recently... But anyway, it isn't enough just to try on a size and see that it fits and go pick up a stack of size whatever pants. Oh no, no no, if you need 3 - 5 pairs of pants, and decide to go simple (as I will to get out of the store as soon as possible, damnit) and pick 3 - 5 pairs of the SAME pair of pants, you are stuck in the dressing room for the next hour and a half of your life trying on every pair of size whatever pants to make sure they fit as well as pair-of-pants-take-one because "No, Lauren, they are NOT the same! Look, this one has a funny pocket..."
Back from that tangent, yeah, so I came back the week of the wedding terrified that I wasn't going to fit into the dress. I had absolutely monitored all of my eating habits that summer- dress fit fine, was even a touch big. I can't say that I wasn't pleased. While I was in Honduras, I had commented to a friend's boyfriend, who happens to be Mexican, that I needed to be on a diet. He thought this over with grave contemplation etched into his face for a few seconds before carefully responding, with deliberation: "Yes." His English sounds phenomenal because he listens to American music all the time. But he didn't actually have any idea what the hell I was saying, so positively responding "yes" seemed like the thing to do. His girlfriend was horrified. Last time he and I had a talk that ended like this was
Me: "Wow, your English is a lot better than my Spanish!"
Him: "...yes."
Her: "NO!"
You see where this is going. So anyway, I kept myself well enough limited on insane food intake to fit in the dress and attend this wedding in decent shape (haha, shape. Like in-shape. I think I'm funny...).
3) My other childhood friend is getting married next October. I'm ridiculously excited about this. Her fiancee proposed in Paris, and I'm pretty sure that he's my new favorite person. I get updates from time to time in my inbox about the state of the union (haha, more funny...). I love it. They've known each other since high school, it's like a fairy tale romance.
So here I am, I bought a dress from this Ukrainian woman in Quincy a few weeks ago. She asked me where I was from, what school, etc, and when I finally broke down and told her she, being the stellar saleswoman she was, called me a genius. This led to, "you have a boyfriend?" "um... no." Seeing this as a mistake, she turned mystic, but still very nice of course. She blessed my dress, gave me a discount for being a foreigner, and told me I would definitely be getting married soon. Awesome. Actually, it makes me wonder if that's what this is all about? This woman has been blessing dresses and inducing marriage all over the place. Half of my graduating class DOES come to Boston/live here.
I'm not saying I need to get married, I'm just sort of surprised. But I have been in 2 weddings and am coming up on my third performance next October. Yes, it's a performance. If it sees me in a dress, with make up and shoes other than sandals, then it's a performance. I liked those weddings though, probably because I know the people and love them dearly. What's that saying? Three times a bridesmaid? Oh well, it happens.
1) Back when I was a teenager, I was in my lovely cousin's wedding. It was great, my uncle had a string trio/quartet/gang of string instrumentalists play at the reception. At some point they played a Celtic set and the groom and his family (they're Irish) hit the floor step dancing. I was impressed.
2) Last year, I was in a childhood friend's wedding. That was a spectacular endeavor, let me tell you. I got fitted for the dress and then promptly left for the field. All summer. I went from France to Turkey to Guatemala to Honduras and it was a little on the ridiculous side. Last time I went to Guatemala I came back about 20 pounds heavier. I know right? I went from 115 to 135. I'm pretty sure that was horrendous. Okay so gaining a few inches (or like 5) on my waist wasn't my favorite, but really, the horrifying part was that I had to buy new clothes. Let's just say that I'm not a fan of shopping. when you hate shopping or being around a lot of people, suddenly being faced with the fact that you have to replace ALL of your pants feels what I would imagine knowing you're about to be hit by a car feels like- you've just walked into the cross walk and realized that car just isn't stopping... I mean, especially when you've spent the last 20 years getting away with wearing what mom brings home (from 6th grade...), and hand me downs from your god mother's sons (things that I love and STILL keep in my closet).
I mean, part of this phobia comes from the fact that mom insists every article of clothing, and therefore all pairs of pants, are sewn differently. Yes, I still go shopping with my mom when I have to get clothes. 1) if she left it up to me, I'd put it out of my mind and it'd just never get done 2) if I am forced into doing it out of necessity by myself, odds are that I can't be trusted and will botch it somehow. Well, I'm improving recently... But anyway, it isn't enough just to try on a size and see that it fits and go pick up a stack of size whatever pants. Oh no, no no, if you need 3 - 5 pairs of pants, and decide to go simple (as I will to get out of the store as soon as possible, damnit) and pick 3 - 5 pairs of the SAME pair of pants, you are stuck in the dressing room for the next hour and a half of your life trying on every pair of size whatever pants to make sure they fit as well as pair-of-pants-take-one because "No, Lauren, they are NOT the same! Look, this one has a funny pocket..."
Back from that tangent, yeah, so I came back the week of the wedding terrified that I wasn't going to fit into the dress. I had absolutely monitored all of my eating habits that summer- dress fit fine, was even a touch big. I can't say that I wasn't pleased. While I was in Honduras, I had commented to a friend's boyfriend, who happens to be Mexican, that I needed to be on a diet. He thought this over with grave contemplation etched into his face for a few seconds before carefully responding, with deliberation: "Yes." His English sounds phenomenal because he listens to American music all the time. But he didn't actually have any idea what the hell I was saying, so positively responding "yes" seemed like the thing to do. His girlfriend was horrified. Last time he and I had a talk that ended like this was
Me: "Wow, your English is a lot better than my Spanish!"
Him: "...yes."
Her: "NO!"
You see where this is going. So anyway, I kept myself well enough limited on insane food intake to fit in the dress and attend this wedding in decent shape (haha, shape. Like in-shape. I think I'm funny...).
3) My other childhood friend is getting married next October. I'm ridiculously excited about this. Her fiancee proposed in Paris, and I'm pretty sure that he's my new favorite person. I get updates from time to time in my inbox about the state of the union (haha, more funny...). I love it. They've known each other since high school, it's like a fairy tale romance.
So here I am, I bought a dress from this Ukrainian woman in Quincy a few weeks ago. She asked me where I was from, what school, etc, and when I finally broke down and told her she, being the stellar saleswoman she was, called me a genius. This led to, "you have a boyfriend?" "um... no." Seeing this as a mistake, she turned mystic, but still very nice of course. She blessed my dress, gave me a discount for being a foreigner, and told me I would definitely be getting married soon. Awesome. Actually, it makes me wonder if that's what this is all about? This woman has been blessing dresses and inducing marriage all over the place. Half of my graduating class DOES come to Boston/live here.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
On the subject of Office Renovations...
Alright, I can admit it. I'm procrastinating. I've been up since before 7 am, a weird trend that's marked this week. I've been productive, writing various things for a few hours only after taking a 3 mile run. but now I'm at the lunch time crawl. Which is ridiculous, because I ate an entire pizza by myself last night... I know, that made no logical sense. I'll leave you with this tid bit... and then go back to typing.
"So, now's not the time to ask for the approval to renovate my office into a replica of the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon? ...don't give me that look. If you can think of another way that I can include 'punch it, Chewie' into daily conversation, I'd love to hear it."
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
:)
What month is this? Is this really August?
I've come to the conclusion that I exist within a black hole, and its vacuum travels with me wherever I go. No, seriously, how did it get to be August already?
So... I went to China. My wallet was stolen with my passport, my cash, my license, my credit card, even my student ID. In my first hour on Chinese soil. This could be funny, except not really. I spent hour 2 in the police station. At least I could amuse myself with the hilarity of the officers' facial expressions as my friend, who is Chinese, told them my name- which is obviously very far from Chinese. The trend of people speaking at me, and then asking why I was acting like a deaf mute, and then raising an eyebrow and dropping a jaw at "What? Huh? I'm sorry, I don't speak Chinese" continued throughout the duration of my trip. Actually, it only got funnier as custody (of me) was turned over to a friend who is tall, blond, blue eyed, and speaks fluent Mandarin. Perhaps the best reaction ever was on a bus. An elderly gentleman gave my arm a tug as I was standing on the crowded bus, so that I could sit in the newly vacated seat beside him. He seemed very amused by my dress which was... distinctly field clothing, and chuckled to himself as he inspected a corner of my obviously not-so-feminine shirt. I would sort of smile, nod, and offer him some of what ever the hell it was I was eating. I think it was Baodzu... anyway, as we neared my stop, my friend came up from the back of the bus, and poked me to let me know we were getting off. I asked her to tell him I didn't speak Chinese, because I hadn't had the heart to tell him myself. She leaned in, and told a now very bewildered man that the girl sitting next to him with a very Chinese face was not Chinese, didn't speak Chinese, and that she was sorry. He stared for about a minute before dissolving into a torso shaking laugh. There are other stories, but I'll save them. Otherwise, I saw the beautiful Sichuan countryside, and hiked the tallest mountain in China, Emeishan. There were monkeys. They were enormous. But Emeishan was an incredible thing in and of itself. On the way there, we visited Leshan, which has the largest Buddha, carved into a rock face, and walked in the Yangtze.
So the mountains of China are all outfitted with stairs for hiking trails. This might seem more helpful but actually, it's like the mother of all staircases, and it's hell on your knees. However, the biodiversity on the mountain was incredible. I keep journals when I travel, and I write in them religiously.
Excerpt: "The stone steps, some of which were recycled grave stones etched with characters, were very low, straining the knees. As we walked, I started to observe the wealth of ecological richness about us. Colorful butterflies frittered about in the tree canopy and up and over the path. Earthworms, formidable in size to snakes, iridescent, sneaking across the steps. What I believe were even planaria, glistening along, narrow bodies clinging to the earth as they inched forward so smoothly that they may as well have been gliding by a mechanism imperceptible to the human eye. Slugs as big as potatoes, lurking everywhere, but even so with a lovely camouflage encasing them to disguise their surfaces as fallen, curling leaves..."
So now I'm back. I got over the jetlag better than expected. Mom picked me up for the family vacation the next day, and after lunch on the way up, I apparently passed out in the front seat for the next 5 hours. When I woke up, we were at the cabin. I groggily got out of the vehicle, and was just coherent enough to drag myself inside and find my room- since my sister and I were sharing the room with the bunk beds, and she'd claimed the bottom, I somehow made it up the ladder and crashed for the next 15 hours or so. all in all, a pretty spectacular performance. Completely slept through dinner. It was great.
Maine was wonderful. My uncle came and he's just been diagnosed with cancer... they're pretty sure he'll be okay, but we played a lot of board games, he won all of them, and wandered around the coast. I went back to running and would go out every morning for 2-5 miles, eat roadside blueberries (I know, healthy, right?), and pick lupines. I did a lot of work on my prospectus. This was, of course, vetoed by my director, but at the time I felt productive.
Back at school, I still run 2-4 miles every morning, or at least 6 days a week. My vegetables in the garden are... well, they're stunted. I have a patch of vegetables so stunted by the incessant rain that they're miniaturized. I can make perhaps half a salad. At least it'll be adorable.
The highlight of my day today, which broke up the paper writing, was going out for lunch... and a little more. It was splendid!
Now, for your viewing amusement: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e_TIOfUEudo
My awesome roommate found this and passed it my way. I appreciated it. I was on the floor laughing. Cheers!
I've come to the conclusion that I exist within a black hole, and its vacuum travels with me wherever I go. No, seriously, how did it get to be August already?
So... I went to China. My wallet was stolen with my passport, my cash, my license, my credit card, even my student ID. In my first hour on Chinese soil. This could be funny, except not really. I spent hour 2 in the police station. At least I could amuse myself with the hilarity of the officers' facial expressions as my friend, who is Chinese, told them my name- which is obviously very far from Chinese. The trend of people speaking at me, and then asking why I was acting like a deaf mute, and then raising an eyebrow and dropping a jaw at "What? Huh? I'm sorry, I don't speak Chinese" continued throughout the duration of my trip. Actually, it only got funnier as custody (of me) was turned over to a friend who is tall, blond, blue eyed, and speaks fluent Mandarin. Perhaps the best reaction ever was on a bus. An elderly gentleman gave my arm a tug as I was standing on the crowded bus, so that I could sit in the newly vacated seat beside him. He seemed very amused by my dress which was... distinctly field clothing, and chuckled to himself as he inspected a corner of my obviously not-so-feminine shirt. I would sort of smile, nod, and offer him some of what ever the hell it was I was eating. I think it was Baodzu... anyway, as we neared my stop, my friend came up from the back of the bus, and poked me to let me know we were getting off. I asked her to tell him I didn't speak Chinese, because I hadn't had the heart to tell him myself. She leaned in, and told a now very bewildered man that the girl sitting next to him with a very Chinese face was not Chinese, didn't speak Chinese, and that she was sorry. He stared for about a minute before dissolving into a torso shaking laugh. There are other stories, but I'll save them. Otherwise, I saw the beautiful Sichuan countryside, and hiked the tallest mountain in China, Emeishan. There were monkeys. They were enormous. But Emeishan was an incredible thing in and of itself. On the way there, we visited Leshan, which has the largest Buddha, carved into a rock face, and walked in the Yangtze.
So the mountains of China are all outfitted with stairs for hiking trails. This might seem more helpful but actually, it's like the mother of all staircases, and it's hell on your knees. However, the biodiversity on the mountain was incredible. I keep journals when I travel, and I write in them religiously.
Excerpt: "The stone steps, some of which were recycled grave stones etched with characters, were very low, straining the knees. As we walked, I started to observe the wealth of ecological richness about us. Colorful butterflies frittered about in the tree canopy and up and over the path. Earthworms, formidable in size to snakes, iridescent, sneaking across the steps. What I believe were even planaria, glistening along, narrow bodies clinging to the earth as they inched forward so smoothly that they may as well have been gliding by a mechanism imperceptible to the human eye. Slugs as big as potatoes, lurking everywhere, but even so with a lovely camouflage encasing them to disguise their surfaces as fallen, curling leaves..."
So now I'm back. I got over the jetlag better than expected. Mom picked me up for the family vacation the next day, and after lunch on the way up, I apparently passed out in the front seat for the next 5 hours. When I woke up, we were at the cabin. I groggily got out of the vehicle, and was just coherent enough to drag myself inside and find my room- since my sister and I were sharing the room with the bunk beds, and she'd claimed the bottom, I somehow made it up the ladder and crashed for the next 15 hours or so. all in all, a pretty spectacular performance. Completely slept through dinner. It was great.
Maine was wonderful. My uncle came and he's just been diagnosed with cancer... they're pretty sure he'll be okay, but we played a lot of board games, he won all of them, and wandered around the coast. I went back to running and would go out every morning for 2-5 miles, eat roadside blueberries (I know, healthy, right?), and pick lupines. I did a lot of work on my prospectus. This was, of course, vetoed by my director, but at the time I felt productive.
Back at school, I still run 2-4 miles every morning, or at least 6 days a week. My vegetables in the garden are... well, they're stunted. I have a patch of vegetables so stunted by the incessant rain that they're miniaturized. I can make perhaps half a salad. At least it'll be adorable.
The highlight of my day today, which broke up the paper writing, was going out for lunch... and a little more. It was splendid!
Now, for your viewing amusement: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e_TIOfUEudo
My awesome roommate found this and passed it my way. I appreciated it. I was on the floor laughing. Cheers!
Monday, March 30, 2009
Oh, the Mundanity of a Day Without Sleep.
I'm on my 40th hour with no sleep. I think. I'm not entirely certain anymore. You see, I had a presentation to give today in class, and I spent about 20 hours on it straight. Starting yesterday early afternoon. Then I just decided not to go to bed, went to my office around 8 pm, went and picked my roommate up from the airport- she got in from her cruise with a sun burn. I commented on the novelty of a sunburn and how I was envious for one of my own. She thinks I'm weird.
Gave said presentation, which after spending so much time on, one would think it would last for the prescribed 40 minutes to an hour. Instead, it seems that 20 hours of work equates roughly in my speaking speed to 15 minutes of actual presentation. When I looked up at the clock and saw that there was half an hour left I was positively mortified. Luckily, there were enough questions (either because the subject material was interesting or because I was inarticulate the first time I ran through the material... who knows... I try to comfort myself by thinking it was the former....) to keep up going up to the last minute of class. Though I got the stern: You're coming to office hours tomorrow, right? which, the professor is right, I have to go. he's been exceedingly helpful, and even though it's like digging at my own side with a screwdriver, might be one of the best remedies for my infernal shyness.
Oh, yes, but now my eyes have ceased to focus and images are starting to cross.
Gave said presentation, which after spending so much time on, one would think it would last for the prescribed 40 minutes to an hour. Instead, it seems that 20 hours of work equates roughly in my speaking speed to 15 minutes of actual presentation. When I looked up at the clock and saw that there was half an hour left I was positively mortified. Luckily, there were enough questions (either because the subject material was interesting or because I was inarticulate the first time I ran through the material... who knows... I try to comfort myself by thinking it was the former....) to keep up going up to the last minute of class. Though I got the stern: You're coming to office hours tomorrow, right? which, the professor is right, I have to go. he's been exceedingly helpful, and even though it's like digging at my own side with a screwdriver, might be one of the best remedies for my infernal shyness.
Oh, yes, but now my eyes have ceased to focus and images are starting to cross.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Surveys, Downpours, & Beers
I've been putting in vast amounts of my time trying to compare costs for various data carriers for this project I'm doing. I won't bore you with the technical details, but this stems off of a project that I started working on over the summer, surveying a river valley and the spatial relationships between particular monuments. Neat, eh?
It's a rainy-ish day out and on one of the early days of the survey, which was only about 2 weeks to begin with, it was a little bit cloudy but nothing spectacular. Our biggest goal was to measure the distance across the valley using a total station- so you shoot a beam of light from the machine to a prism which reflects it back, and in the time it takes for the light to travel, the distance is calculated.
But the distance across the valley was pretty damned big. I don't ask any of my team to do anything I haven't done or won't do, so I took my friend's boyfriend's GPS and went with a guide that morning. Upon reaching the top, the battery went dead, and I became extremely unhappy- but... saw that there was a point from which I could plant a prism and take the point without trees in the way.
So when I returned for lunch, I informed said boyfriend that it would be his turn after lunch. One of the students expressed an interest in tagging along on the trip, and since I was shooting, I said sure. He could practice his Spanish, the boyfriend could practice his English, the guide could take some time to walk instead of excavate (which I prefer too) and I could take the point.
But before they left, I noticed the clouds in the sky- we were in the rainy season afterall- and voiced some concerns about the weather. "No, no lluvia. No es una problema." About 15 minutes after they left, and the hike takes about an hour or two up the other side of the ridge, the winds picked up and the clouds descended on us. Our director came booking it up to the site "Pack it in! The skies are about to open up! We're in for a torrential rainstorm!" I got a little uneasy. I'd harangued the boyfriend that morning to not forget the cell phone, specifically for the purpose of dealing with the survey today. We could call him! Tell them to come back down... Unfortunately, their end wasn't getting any reception. One of the supervisors reassured me and said he'd seen the driver take off like a bat out of hell when the winds picked up, and he was likely on his way to pick them up now- because the guide knew, and would bring them back down the ridge immediately.
This might have been the case in an ideal world. About an hour later we were all indoors at one of the lab facilities. Our director going through roll call to make sure that all the field school students were in. There was a long pause at one point. "Um, has anybody seen..." I cringed and slunk into the adjacent lab space of the girl whose boyfriend I had just sent to drown with the student and offered to be slave labor on her current sorting project.
Some 5 hours later - I had stayed late at the lab - I finally went back to our living quarters. The boyfriend and the student were just getting back from the trip, and were drenched- though with mud up to mid torso. I ran to the friend and her boyfriend's room. "um... I'm sorry? Desculpe?" "...take your phone." was the response from the bathroom where he was wringing out his clothing. The student, apparently, had had a blast and was regaling his fellow cohort with tales of the bridge being washed out, tramping through fields, etc. "We called the driver! He didn't pick up! His wife did! she said he was at the bar!" Apparently, when the winds picked up the guide didn't bring them down- he rushed them to the top. Afterwhich point, they finally ventured down- as the lightening bolts were all around them and they were standing at arguably the highest point of a cleared ridge under an itty bitty aluminum roof... but at the bottom, the river had risen by several feet and the bridge was washed out. So they had to find an alternate route- which entailed wading through streams all holding onto the pole for the prism so they didn't get swept away (particularly the guide, he was definitely under 5 feet tall) going several miles out of the way and trespassing through the fields of various farmers. Luckily, the guide they were with knew everyone in the general area, and so they didn't get shot at. At least I could tell my director that I hadn't killed off his student. For the rest of the season, I'm pretty sure that most of the students who went on survey believed that the guide was god.
Beers and dinner were on me.
Partly because of the ordeal- mostly because I was sending them back up the next morning.
It's a rainy-ish day out and on one of the early days of the survey, which was only about 2 weeks to begin with, it was a little bit cloudy but nothing spectacular. Our biggest goal was to measure the distance across the valley using a total station- so you shoot a beam of light from the machine to a prism which reflects it back, and in the time it takes for the light to travel, the distance is calculated.
But the distance across the valley was pretty damned big. I don't ask any of my team to do anything I haven't done or won't do, so I took my friend's boyfriend's GPS and went with a guide that morning. Upon reaching the top, the battery went dead, and I became extremely unhappy- but... saw that there was a point from which I could plant a prism and take the point without trees in the way.
So when I returned for lunch, I informed said boyfriend that it would be his turn after lunch. One of the students expressed an interest in tagging along on the trip, and since I was shooting, I said sure. He could practice his Spanish, the boyfriend could practice his English, the guide could take some time to walk instead of excavate (which I prefer too) and I could take the point.
But before they left, I noticed the clouds in the sky- we were in the rainy season afterall- and voiced some concerns about the weather. "No, no lluvia. No es una problema." About 15 minutes after they left, and the hike takes about an hour or two up the other side of the ridge, the winds picked up and the clouds descended on us. Our director came booking it up to the site "Pack it in! The skies are about to open up! We're in for a torrential rainstorm!" I got a little uneasy. I'd harangued the boyfriend that morning to not forget the cell phone, specifically for the purpose of dealing with the survey today. We could call him! Tell them to come back down... Unfortunately, their end wasn't getting any reception. One of the supervisors reassured me and said he'd seen the driver take off like a bat out of hell when the winds picked up, and he was likely on his way to pick them up now- because the guide knew, and would bring them back down the ridge immediately.
This might have been the case in an ideal world. About an hour later we were all indoors at one of the lab facilities. Our director going through roll call to make sure that all the field school students were in. There was a long pause at one point. "Um, has anybody seen..." I cringed and slunk into the adjacent lab space of the girl whose boyfriend I had just sent to drown with the student and offered to be slave labor on her current sorting project.
Some 5 hours later - I had stayed late at the lab - I finally went back to our living quarters. The boyfriend and the student were just getting back from the trip, and were drenched- though with mud up to mid torso. I ran to the friend and her boyfriend's room. "um... I'm sorry? Desculpe?" "...take your phone." was the response from the bathroom where he was wringing out his clothing. The student, apparently, had had a blast and was regaling his fellow cohort with tales of the bridge being washed out, tramping through fields, etc. "We called the driver! He didn't pick up! His wife did! she said he was at the bar!" Apparently, when the winds picked up the guide didn't bring them down- he rushed them to the top. Afterwhich point, they finally ventured down- as the lightening bolts were all around them and they were standing at arguably the highest point of a cleared ridge under an itty bitty aluminum roof... but at the bottom, the river had risen by several feet and the bridge was washed out. So they had to find an alternate route- which entailed wading through streams all holding onto the pole for the prism so they didn't get swept away (particularly the guide, he was definitely under 5 feet tall) going several miles out of the way and trespassing through the fields of various farmers. Luckily, the guide they were with knew everyone in the general area, and so they didn't get shot at. At least I could tell my director that I hadn't killed off his student. For the rest of the season, I'm pretty sure that most of the students who went on survey believed that the guide was god.
Beers and dinner were on me.
Partly because of the ordeal- mostly because I was sending them back up the next morning.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Monkeys, "Kitties", and Reinvention
Once upon a time, I had strong opinions. While I've never been the type to be imposing, it was comforting for me to have them all the same.
In the last 18 months I suppose something changed all that, and much of my internal dialogue dissipated. I went from being extremely introspective to hardly being able to look at myself without becoming frustrated.
In the last few months, however, I've been trying to find the patience to redefine myself within the same margins I maintained in that time long lost, but perhaps with room for expansion. If that makes any sense outside of my head.
This was set in motion when I began rereading some books that I once held extremely dear. I remembered that I could think about things beyond what I am supposed to be studying- talking, well... talking is still another matter. But one hurtle at a time.
In line with uncovering what I used to be, here is one of my favorite memories:
Our first day in camp of my first field project, our director showed us around, and pointed out things we should probably avoid contact with: "Do you see that spiny semi-venomous swinging vine? Don't touch it." Several weeks later, I went out on survey and learned, the hard way, that you do not brace yourself with your hands when you fall. Instead, you fall like a tree. The reason being, that I soon discovered, because you will almost certainly lose the use of your hands for several days. The vine he had pointed out was miserably on the ground in front of me, and I ended up with needle like points in my right hand, under my nails, and all the way up my forearm. Several months later, there would still be points working their ways out from the depths of my flesh. As one might have guessed, the survey team was some hours away from camp, so I was stuck on the sidelines for a day or so.
While I sat, fixing my notes- left handed, awkwardly- and contemplating life, I started listening. The jungle is no quiet place. The noise rivals that of an urban place, only the notes of the tune are more pleasant. Eventually, I put down my notebook and looked. Having grown up in a house tucked in a small nook in the woods, and being slightly socially awkward, I learned early that you could become acquainted with secretive aspects of the forest if you were quiet and patient. With me was sitting the eldest member of the team- in his 60s, with more vitality than anybody I had ever met, and also who knew the jungle better. After some time in silence, a small body poked its nose out of the underbrush, and weaved its lanky body through the clearing we were sitting in. Clearly a mammal, but like none I had ever lad eyes on. In passing, it gave us an unconcerned glance, as though we were little more than another tree among many but with an odd scent, and moved along on its way to someplace important. I turned to him after the gravity of the animal's presence had dissipated. I had been speaking Spanish for little more than a month or two, but managed weakly: "Que es?" to which he answered with an enchanted look and slight shrug "No se."
The fall on the spiny vine was actually a blessing. We were later graced with the visit of howler monkeys and a jaguarundi. I keep travel journals to keep track of the progression of my thoughts when I go someplace- I wrote of the encounters very lightly until now. This could be a function of my needing time to find appropriate wording for things very dear to me. Have you heard the Twain expression: "The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightening and the lightening bug"?
In the last 18 months I suppose something changed all that, and much of my internal dialogue dissipated. I went from being extremely introspective to hardly being able to look at myself without becoming frustrated.
In the last few months, however, I've been trying to find the patience to redefine myself within the same margins I maintained in that time long lost, but perhaps with room for expansion. If that makes any sense outside of my head.
This was set in motion when I began rereading some books that I once held extremely dear. I remembered that I could think about things beyond what I am supposed to be studying- talking, well... talking is still another matter. But one hurtle at a time.
In line with uncovering what I used to be, here is one of my favorite memories:
Our first day in camp of my first field project, our director showed us around, and pointed out things we should probably avoid contact with: "Do you see that spiny semi-venomous swinging vine? Don't touch it." Several weeks later, I went out on survey and learned, the hard way, that you do not brace yourself with your hands when you fall. Instead, you fall like a tree. The reason being, that I soon discovered, because you will almost certainly lose the use of your hands for several days. The vine he had pointed out was miserably on the ground in front of me, and I ended up with needle like points in my right hand, under my nails, and all the way up my forearm. Several months later, there would still be points working their ways out from the depths of my flesh. As one might have guessed, the survey team was some hours away from camp, so I was stuck on the sidelines for a day or so.
While I sat, fixing my notes- left handed, awkwardly- and contemplating life, I started listening. The jungle is no quiet place. The noise rivals that of an urban place, only the notes of the tune are more pleasant. Eventually, I put down my notebook and looked. Having grown up in a house tucked in a small nook in the woods, and being slightly socially awkward, I learned early that you could become acquainted with secretive aspects of the forest if you were quiet and patient. With me was sitting the eldest member of the team- in his 60s, with more vitality than anybody I had ever met, and also who knew the jungle better. After some time in silence, a small body poked its nose out of the underbrush, and weaved its lanky body through the clearing we were sitting in. Clearly a mammal, but like none I had ever lad eyes on. In passing, it gave us an unconcerned glance, as though we were little more than another tree among many but with an odd scent, and moved along on its way to someplace important. I turned to him after the gravity of the animal's presence had dissipated. I had been speaking Spanish for little more than a month or two, but managed weakly: "Que es?" to which he answered with an enchanted look and slight shrug "No se."
The fall on the spiny vine was actually a blessing. We were later graced with the visit of howler monkeys and a jaguarundi. I keep travel journals to keep track of the progression of my thoughts when I go someplace- I wrote of the encounters very lightly until now. This could be a function of my needing time to find appropriate wording for things very dear to me. Have you heard the Twain expression: "The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightening and the lightening bug"?
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
"Hello, no one is available to take your call...."
Day one of my major exams are is in less than 24 hours. So what am I doing? Blogging! Actually, I'm just making a short comment and then getting back to the studying I've been at since 10:30 this morning (it only started that late because I went to bed at 3).
And so... as a continuation from my subject line:
Out of my mind. Back after the 27th. Please leave a message, after the tone-
Beep.
And so... as a continuation from my subject line:
Out of my mind. Back after the 27th. Please leave a message, after the tone-
Beep.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Miscellaneous Megafauna, Paper Clip Lock Picks & Impending Doom
My day began fairly normally- not particularly eventful. I blew through another portion of a project I have due very shortly, and the professor and TF for that class took a few of us out to eat dinner. I returned to my office by 11, set on finishing the project in its entirety. Right after making use of the facilities- you see, I'd partaken in a beer or two to personally celebrate my hard work.
The student office has a key pad we use to get in. Every now and then, the thing malfunctions, so we tend to keep a set of keys on us for back up. It'd functioned without any hitch all day, so I took this to mean that I was in the clear.
When I came back, I found myself locked out in the hall. The keys were on my desk. with my cell phone. and ID. and everything else that might be useful. So things progressed from there in an exponential stream of rapidly deteriorating sanity.
1) punching in the code over and over again hoping it would work (you see, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result)
2) trying to remove the key pad to mess with the wires (first with my finger nails, then with thumb tacks I found in a near by message board)
3) pulling out some of the wires through one of the lights (I obviously wasn't the first one to try this, the light was already loose)
When none of these things worked, I weighed my options by wandering around the rest of the floor. See, most of the offices were locked as well, as was the entrance to the main reception area (and the couches). We have a student lounge, but the chairs aren't ideal for stretching out in- even if you push a few together. I did, however, find a croquette set in the student lounge- no, I didn't use the mallets to break through the door. I picked up the wire hoops instead. unfortunately, they weren't skinny enough to be of use to me- but the box of paper clips I found shortly thereafter next to the copy machine looked promising. I'm sure you can see where this is going. While I was fairly certain that I could kick the door open, I was even more certain that the department wouldn't like it- even if the breaking and entering happened at my own office. I settled on trying to pick the lock.
Since my department studies people, I could easily argue that I was doing what humans post Neanderthals are known to do- coming up with innovative new tools. Homo sapiens theoretically out competed Homo neanderthalis in just this way. They came up with new kinds of tools, and were constantly making changes to suit their needs. In so doing, they more efficiently exploited their environment and other environments not previously available for colonization (too cold, etc... but with things like bone tools, aka needles, they could sew together the animal hides that Hominins had worn until then by slinging around themselves to make form fitting clothing that could thus be worn to keep them warm when traveling into cold regions). The more successful Homo sapiens (us, btw) could reproduce more successfully, increasing their populations, and out competing Homo neanderthalis- okay, I'm going to leave it at that. The take home message here is that I was innovatively solving my problems.
Roughly one hour and 8 paper clips later, I decided this wasn't working out and resigned myself to spending the night in the hallway. I resorted to what most slightly sleep deprived students with "free time" on their hands, getting ready for prelims would do- I took a practice exam. Since, as I mentioned, everything I owned that was remotely useful was on the wrong side of the locked door- I lacked pen and paper. So, I took the exam out loud.
When the security guard found me an hour later sitting on the floor next to a pile of destroyed paper clips talking out loud to no one in particular about the extinction of megafauna in North America, he made a point of asking me for my student ID. He was nice enough not to draw attention to the mangled strands of metal, though he clearly saw them given the priceless expression on his face and obvious stare. Did I mention that in addition to my keys, phone and ID, neither were my shoes on my person? That's right, they were in my office, under my desk. I looked and sounded like a legitimately crazy person.
So while I had every intention of actually going home tonight, I'm back on my friend's couch as she is ever so kind as to lend me its use (as I may or may not have mentioned, I've taken up residence for the past week on my friend's couch, as she is much closer to school than I am). Once the security guard nervously let me back in the lab, I sent my friend a message bringing her up to date on this crap, and she sympathetically invited me to come back over and crash on her couch. However, when I got there, her cell phone wasn't getting reception, and since she resides in a dorm, my key card wasn't having any of it- so I had to find a way to get in touch with her so I could stop standing out in the 14 degree weather. The logical choice: snowballs. I assailed her window with them. Luckily, I picked the ones that belonged to her. Because throwing snowballs at the wrong window, unlike everything else that happened with my night, would have been awkward.
Oh well, by this time, all my visions of being even more productive this evening had turned into delusions, so I've put the project on the back burner- until tomorrow.
Lyric of the Day: "So wait, for the stone, on your window, your window. Wait, by the car, and we'll go, we'll go- Valencia..."
The student office has a key pad we use to get in. Every now and then, the thing malfunctions, so we tend to keep a set of keys on us for back up. It'd functioned without any hitch all day, so I took this to mean that I was in the clear.
When I came back, I found myself locked out in the hall. The keys were on my desk. with my cell phone. and ID. and everything else that might be useful. So things progressed from there in an exponential stream of rapidly deteriorating sanity.
1) punching in the code over and over again hoping it would work (you see, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result)
2) trying to remove the key pad to mess with the wires (first with my finger nails, then with thumb tacks I found in a near by message board)
3) pulling out some of the wires through one of the lights (I obviously wasn't the first one to try this, the light was already loose)
When none of these things worked, I weighed my options by wandering around the rest of the floor. See, most of the offices were locked as well, as was the entrance to the main reception area (and the couches). We have a student lounge, but the chairs aren't ideal for stretching out in- even if you push a few together. I did, however, find a croquette set in the student lounge- no, I didn't use the mallets to break through the door. I picked up the wire hoops instead. unfortunately, they weren't skinny enough to be of use to me- but the box of paper clips I found shortly thereafter next to the copy machine looked promising. I'm sure you can see where this is going. While I was fairly certain that I could kick the door open, I was even more certain that the department wouldn't like it- even if the breaking and entering happened at my own office. I settled on trying to pick the lock.
Since my department studies people, I could easily argue that I was doing what humans post Neanderthals are known to do- coming up with innovative new tools. Homo sapiens theoretically out competed Homo neanderthalis in just this way. They came up with new kinds of tools, and were constantly making changes to suit their needs. In so doing, they more efficiently exploited their environment and other environments not previously available for colonization (too cold, etc... but with things like bone tools, aka needles, they could sew together the animal hides that Hominins had worn until then by slinging around themselves to make form fitting clothing that could thus be worn to keep them warm when traveling into cold regions). The more successful Homo sapiens (us, btw) could reproduce more successfully, increasing their populations, and out competing Homo neanderthalis- okay, I'm going to leave it at that. The take home message here is that I was innovatively solving my problems.
Roughly one hour and 8 paper clips later, I decided this wasn't working out and resigned myself to spending the night in the hallway. I resorted to what most slightly sleep deprived students with "free time" on their hands, getting ready for prelims would do- I took a practice exam. Since, as I mentioned, everything I owned that was remotely useful was on the wrong side of the locked door- I lacked pen and paper. So, I took the exam out loud.
When the security guard found me an hour later sitting on the floor next to a pile of destroyed paper clips talking out loud to no one in particular about the extinction of megafauna in North America, he made a point of asking me for my student ID. He was nice enough not to draw attention to the mangled strands of metal, though he clearly saw them given the priceless expression on his face and obvious stare. Did I mention that in addition to my keys, phone and ID, neither were my shoes on my person? That's right, they were in my office, under my desk. I looked and sounded like a legitimately crazy person.
So while I had every intention of actually going home tonight, I'm back on my friend's couch as she is ever so kind as to lend me its use (as I may or may not have mentioned, I've taken up residence for the past week on my friend's couch, as she is much closer to school than I am). Once the security guard nervously let me back in the lab, I sent my friend a message bringing her up to date on this crap, and she sympathetically invited me to come back over and crash on her couch. However, when I got there, her cell phone wasn't getting reception, and since she resides in a dorm, my key card wasn't having any of it- so I had to find a way to get in touch with her so I could stop standing out in the 14 degree weather. The logical choice: snowballs. I assailed her window with them. Luckily, I picked the ones that belonged to her. Because throwing snowballs at the wrong window, unlike everything else that happened with my night, would have been awkward.
Oh well, by this time, all my visions of being even more productive this evening had turned into delusions, so I've put the project on the back burner- until tomorrow.
Lyric of the Day: "So wait, for the stone, on your window, your window. Wait, by the car, and we'll go, we'll go- Valencia..."
Monday, January 12, 2009
Surprise Rats, Epiphanies, & Underwear
I've come to a realization.
That whole episode following my break up was upsetting, as those kinds of things sometimes will be. I had a very understanding professor tell me that loss of that kind can often be likened with the death of a loved one. That is very true- I was reminded of the traumatic death of the rat I kept in high school through to college. As ridiculous as this sounds, and as trivial as you might think it makes my former relationship seem, I should probably explain that this rat was sort of like a member of the family.
When I was a kid, I had a habit I picked up from my mom, that was particularly irritating to my dad- which entailed bringing home the various animals I encountered and installing them in our house. By the time I turned 17, I got my license. This made things infinitely worse, because access to a car dramatically increased the number chance of encounters I had with random fauna, facilitated them, even. It also made it extremely easy for me to transport them home.
There was a small petshop in my hometown, and on one particular occasion I decided it would be a phenomenal idea to stop in and look at the rodents. I'd always wanted a mouse, there was this romantic notion in my head of keeping one in my pocket. Instead, I noticed a tank of ugly hairless looking things in a corner.
Darla was a rex, or half hairless rat, and the only girl in a litter of boys. She was so ugly, that when the girl working there told me the litter would be turned into snake food soon if nobody took them, I decided that she was better off with me.
The first 3 weeks of her life were spent residing nightly in the bottom drawer of my dresser, or daily in a shoe box that traveled EVERYWHERE with me. Within the week, my sister knew about her. In two weeks, so did the entire neighborhood. Everybody knew. Except my mother. After awhile, she started trying to fake me out. "I looked in that shoebox today." She would say carefully. "...No you didn't." "...How do you KNOW?!" How? Because if she had, I wouldn't have been alive to answer the question.
She eventually did find out, and immediately wished that she hadn't. She was rather frustrated with me, now that my sister and all her little friends knew what it was that I was carrying around everywhere in addition to the neighbors, while she still did not know. Having spent the last 3 weeks bringing the rat to and from school, and trying to keep the cat out of the room, I was a little weary of the secrecy, and thought that the entertainment value was depreciating- so maybe dropping the charade would be better. Besides, the week prior, Darla had realized that she could migrate throughout the dresser, and as a result I was now severely lacking in underwear and socks. Explaining why I needed to go shopping to replace all of these would be difficult without coming clean. I waited until she brought up the shoe box. Mom was angry, insisted that now she didn't want to know, and started dealing with dinner in the kitchen. My method of dealing with this, now that the underwear situation was getting dire, was to put the contents on my shoulder, and wander around the house (I would later use this similar technique to disclose my new tattoo- and it would be met with even less success).
"Here mom."
"What?"
"Shoe box."
"Wha- OH MY GOD-"
Apparently, the night before she'd stayed up watching a PBS thing on the bubonic plague, and the fact that there was a patchy looking rat in her house wasn't optimal.
Either way, cut a long story short, the rat became a regular member of the family, usually sat on me for meals, and got her own made for her by my mother when I was away at college. My sister complained.
"Mom made eggs this morning."
"Oh?"
"-For the rat."
When she passed away, there was much heartbreak, and I didn't get out of bed for about 3 days.
That whole episode following my break up was upsetting, as those kinds of things sometimes will be. I had a very understanding professor tell me that loss of that kind can often be likened with the death of a loved one. That is very true- I was reminded of the traumatic death of the rat I kept in high school through to college. As ridiculous as this sounds, and as trivial as you might think it makes my former relationship seem, I should probably explain that this rat was sort of like a member of the family.
When I was a kid, I had a habit I picked up from my mom, that was particularly irritating to my dad- which entailed bringing home the various animals I encountered and installing them in our house. By the time I turned 17, I got my license. This made things infinitely worse, because access to a car dramatically increased the number chance of encounters I had with random fauna, facilitated them, even. It also made it extremely easy for me to transport them home.
There was a small petshop in my hometown, and on one particular occasion I decided it would be a phenomenal idea to stop in and look at the rodents. I'd always wanted a mouse, there was this romantic notion in my head of keeping one in my pocket. Instead, I noticed a tank of ugly hairless looking things in a corner.
Darla was a rex, or half hairless rat, and the only girl in a litter of boys. She was so ugly, that when the girl working there told me the litter would be turned into snake food soon if nobody took them, I decided that she was better off with me.
The first 3 weeks of her life were spent residing nightly in the bottom drawer of my dresser, or daily in a shoe box that traveled EVERYWHERE with me. Within the week, my sister knew about her. In two weeks, so did the entire neighborhood. Everybody knew. Except my mother. After awhile, she started trying to fake me out. "I looked in that shoebox today." She would say carefully. "...No you didn't." "...How do you KNOW?!" How? Because if she had, I wouldn't have been alive to answer the question.
She eventually did find out, and immediately wished that she hadn't. She was rather frustrated with me, now that my sister and all her little friends knew what it was that I was carrying around everywhere in addition to the neighbors, while she still did not know. Having spent the last 3 weeks bringing the rat to and from school, and trying to keep the cat out of the room, I was a little weary of the secrecy, and thought that the entertainment value was depreciating- so maybe dropping the charade would be better. Besides, the week prior, Darla had realized that she could migrate throughout the dresser, and as a result I was now severely lacking in underwear and socks. Explaining why I needed to go shopping to replace all of these would be difficult without coming clean. I waited until she brought up the shoe box. Mom was angry, insisted that now she didn't want to know, and started dealing with dinner in the kitchen. My method of dealing with this, now that the underwear situation was getting dire, was to put the contents on my shoulder, and wander around the house (I would later use this similar technique to disclose my new tattoo- and it would be met with even less success).
"Here mom."
"What?"
"Shoe box."
"Wha- OH MY GOD-"
Apparently, the night before she'd stayed up watching a PBS thing on the bubonic plague, and the fact that there was a patchy looking rat in her house wasn't optimal.
Either way, cut a long story short, the rat became a regular member of the family, usually sat on me for meals, and got her own made for her by my mother when I was away at college. My sister complained.
"Mom made eggs this morning."
"Oh?"
"-For the rat."
When she passed away, there was much heartbreak, and I didn't get out of bed for about 3 days.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Quotes at Random: 1
"Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live."
-Oscar Wilde
-Oscar Wilde
Friday, January 9, 2009
Cats, Rats & a Brief Animated Interlude
You may have noticed the slowly accumulating cat iconography all over my page. And the frequent references to cats. This is actually inexplicable because 24 years of experience tells me that I don't mix well with cats. At all.
As the least of my worries, I'm fairly allergic. So it makes not a lick of sense that I frequently browse petfinder, look for them, or ask other people to give me one. I like my friends' cats. And they like me for a pin cushion.
I slept over a dear friend's house last year and spent some quality time cuddling her newly acquired (spoiled) kitten. This cat had more toys than a Toys R Us. AND they were technologically fun for humans. There was a thing called a "panic mouse" that I got to be present for the christening of, and it was fascinating. It even kept the cat entertained for like an afternoon. You attach a feather to the end of this thing and it whips it around at whatever speed you want.
Anyway, I slept over and kitten had been pretty calm all day. Right after I fell asleep I woke up in a perceived warzone. The "kitten" had spent his day sleeping, so he was full of energy for the rest of the night and catapulted (hardy har har) at my face and landed paws down, nails out. Alarm clocks are effective, but if you could put a timer on this thing that didn't go off at 3 am, I'd say you'd never have problems with wanting to hit the snooze button ever again. Here's a mild re-enactment, with most of the violence cut out:
Come to think of it, I've had a lot of fairly unfortunate run ins with cats. The first was when I was 8. I had a cat named Holly (We found her around Christmas, and being 8 I thought I was pretty clever matching her name with her "birthday"... I'd shown similar genius a couple years later that when unrecognized by my mom when I suggested we name the dog Petunia. Since it was spring and all.). So we had this cat that was actually pretty friendly. Nice. Aesthetic enough. Incapable of recognizing the litter box but hey, everybody's got something. She disappeared in the middle of winter, and showed up several weeks later in a blizzard. I was decked out in all kinds of dress up clothes (again, I was 8) in multiple layers because it was cold. So I scooped up the cat and brought her to the basement. We hoped that putting her on the same floor as the litter box might jog her memory as to "this is a litter box, use it". A few weeks away, she was more likely to have forgotten than usual but we were optimistic. Whatever the idea was, it concluded with me stuffed into a concrete wall at the bottom of the stairs. One broken arm, two ambulances (the first one got stuck in the snow), a newly discovered (ridiculously uncomfortable) allergy to morphine and 3 pins later, I came home to discover that that cat was no longer taking residence at our house, but with a nice farmer some towns over.
The other incident happened a few years later when I tried sleeping at a neighbor's house. I ended up in the top bunk that night, which was pretty neat, I liked heights back then. By morning, however, the cat decided that there wasn't room up there for the both of us and after a rude, multiple clawed wake up call, I found myself evicted and relocated (rather abruptly) to the floor. Her parents came in because I shook the foundation.
Therefore, there is actually no logical reason that I should have a cat. It's been proven fairly well that I can't handle cats (and in previous posts, children, dogs or even fish). And yet, I still find some appeal in having a fuzzy thing around. Maybe I'll get a rat.
As the least of my worries, I'm fairly allergic. So it makes not a lick of sense that I frequently browse petfinder, look for them, or ask other people to give me one. I like my friends' cats. And they like me for a pin cushion.
I slept over a dear friend's house last year and spent some quality time cuddling her newly acquired (spoiled) kitten. This cat had more toys than a Toys R Us. AND they were technologically fun for humans. There was a thing called a "panic mouse" that I got to be present for the christening of, and it was fascinating. It even kept the cat entertained for like an afternoon. You attach a feather to the end of this thing and it whips it around at whatever speed you want.
Anyway, I slept over and kitten had been pretty calm all day. Right after I fell asleep I woke up in a perceived warzone. The "kitten" had spent his day sleeping, so he was full of energy for the rest of the night and catapulted (hardy har har) at my face and landed paws down, nails out. Alarm clocks are effective, but if you could put a timer on this thing that didn't go off at 3 am, I'd say you'd never have problems with wanting to hit the snooze button ever again. Here's a mild re-enactment, with most of the violence cut out:
Come to think of it, I've had a lot of fairly unfortunate run ins with cats. The first was when I was 8. I had a cat named Holly (We found her around Christmas, and being 8 I thought I was pretty clever matching her name with her "birthday"... I'd shown similar genius a couple years later that when unrecognized by my mom when I suggested we name the dog Petunia. Since it was spring and all.). So we had this cat that was actually pretty friendly. Nice. Aesthetic enough. Incapable of recognizing the litter box but hey, everybody's got something. She disappeared in the middle of winter, and showed up several weeks later in a blizzard. I was decked out in all kinds of dress up clothes (again, I was 8) in multiple layers because it was cold. So I scooped up the cat and brought her to the basement. We hoped that putting her on the same floor as the litter box might jog her memory as to "this is a litter box, use it". A few weeks away, she was more likely to have forgotten than usual but we were optimistic. Whatever the idea was, it concluded with me stuffed into a concrete wall at the bottom of the stairs. One broken arm, two ambulances (the first one got stuck in the snow), a newly discovered (ridiculously uncomfortable) allergy to morphine and 3 pins later, I came home to discover that that cat was no longer taking residence at our house, but with a nice farmer some towns over.
The other incident happened a few years later when I tried sleeping at a neighbor's house. I ended up in the top bunk that night, which was pretty neat, I liked heights back then. By morning, however, the cat decided that there wasn't room up there for the both of us and after a rude, multiple clawed wake up call, I found myself evicted and relocated (rather abruptly) to the floor. Her parents came in because I shook the foundation.
Therefore, there is actually no logical reason that I should have a cat. It's been proven fairly well that I can't handle cats (and in previous posts, children, dogs or even fish). And yet, I still find some appeal in having a fuzzy thing around. Maybe I'll get a rat.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Rent, Renting, & Exploding dishwashers.
I've been tidying my room in an effort to increase my productivity. It's "wintry mix"-ing (www.weather.com, 2009) right now outside so I decided that I would avoid going to the office and just work from here. The only problem is that the room is a mess and full of distractions. I would have braved the icy sidewalks, and saved myself from this, but when I tried that earlier this week I slid across and then off the sidewalk not 100 meters from my house and yanked something out of alignment in my lower back. Somehow, going to yoga sounded like a good idea after that. I now have a numb left hand. Don't ask, I don't know and the doctors don't either. The back, however, is pretty much fine now! Wow, yanked my back out of alignment? I just actually read that statement and had to take a moment to drink in the idiocy of it. Talk about getting old. Before you know it, I'll be getting a walker.
So I'm picking up glasses. I have 3 glasses, 4 mugs, a Powerade bottle, a bowl, assorted cutlery, and a Sam Adams cranberry lambic. Oh, and something that looks like one of those fancy flowery tall glasses they bring you sundaes in at Friendly's. The problem is that I don't want to have to wash them all right now. And I can't leave them in our sink. And our dishwasher exploded a few days ago so I really don't have a way out. I'm just going to end up putting them in a corner.
Oh, right, dishwasher explosions. So watching Rent took me two attempts to get all the way through it because on the first evening, the dishwasher interrupted the viewing. My roommate went into the kitchen at 10:30 to get something, I was on the couch being a weepy girl, when: "Um... you should see this."
"What is it?"
"Dishwasher is... leaking."
"Oh, we'll just clean it up after the movie."
"Um... no I think you should really see this."
Turns out that if we'd had koi, we could have had a reflecting pool. In our kitchen. There was standing water almost all the way to the living room. She sent me downstairs for a bucket. When I got into the basement, I realized that we also now had a waterfall.
"There's... water down here too."
"Is it a lot?"
"...Well.........."
Yes, and it was cascading down onto the appliances. We called my third roommate to tell her "Welcome back from vacation, I'm sure you're on your way... um... the dishwasher exploded everywhere just so you know the situation.... Happy New Year!"
Our landlord came over shortly after (around midnight) to find me bailing out the constantly filling dishwasher with a cup. We'd been closing the kitchen door to conserve energy but he informed us that doing so froze the pipes in the dishwasher. The water wouldn't stop though, so he shut it off (and the heat) to the entire house. our upstairs neighbors were PISSED.
So now, we're dishwasher less, and I'm slowly hoarding dishes.
So I'm picking up glasses. I have 3 glasses, 4 mugs, a Powerade bottle, a bowl, assorted cutlery, and a Sam Adams cranberry lambic. Oh, and something that looks like one of those fancy flowery tall glasses they bring you sundaes in at Friendly's. The problem is that I don't want to have to wash them all right now. And I can't leave them in our sink. And our dishwasher exploded a few days ago so I really don't have a way out. I'm just going to end up putting them in a corner.
Oh, right, dishwasher explosions. So watching Rent took me two attempts to get all the way through it because on the first evening, the dishwasher interrupted the viewing. My roommate went into the kitchen at 10:30 to get something, I was on the couch being a weepy girl, when: "Um... you should see this."
"What is it?"
"Dishwasher is... leaking."
"Oh, we'll just clean it up after the movie."
"Um... no I think you should really see this."
Turns out that if we'd had koi, we could have had a reflecting pool. In our kitchen. There was standing water almost all the way to the living room. She sent me downstairs for a bucket. When I got into the basement, I realized that we also now had a waterfall.
"There's... water down here too."
"Is it a lot?"
"...Well.........."
Yes, and it was cascading down onto the appliances. We called my third roommate to tell her "Welcome back from vacation, I'm sure you're on your way... um... the dishwasher exploded everywhere just so you know the situation.... Happy New Year!"
Our landlord came over shortly after (around midnight) to find me bailing out the constantly filling dishwasher with a cup. We'd been closing the kitchen door to conserve energy but he informed us that doing so froze the pipes in the dishwasher. The water wouldn't stop though, so he shut it off (and the heat) to the entire house. our upstairs neighbors were PISSED.
So now, we're dishwasher less, and I'm slowly hoarding dishes.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
More Yoga, Racism, & Retrievers
On my way to yoga- which I frequently am, because it's one of the only things that keeps me sane in this lovely holiday period of academically induced stress, I had an interesting run in with ignorance.
These are things that I tend to find hugely entertaining.
Anyway, to get to yoga, we cross from the parking lot through an organic market, a coffee shop, and then to the street on the other side. In the market, there were two women with seeing eye dogs that just so happened to be golden retrievers. Most people who have spent extended periods of time with me or joined me on a walk can tell you that I have an obnoxious/ridiculous habit of talking AT the animals that I see- particularly dogs. And I used to have a golden retriever so this was one of those times. "Aw...!!" (suspend judgment please, it's the only severely 'girly' thing that I do).
A random passerby took this as a cue to approach me.
"Yes, they're cute, aren't they?"
"Yeah, they really ar-"
"It's too bad that in China, they just eat them. Here, they help people."
I was a little confused as to why she'd chosen to tell me about her not-so-PC views on Chinese people. Until I remembered something. I look incredibly Asian. Actually, I am Asian. Just not Chinese- and based on my upbringing with American parents, I'm a New Englander.
I suppose she thought she was educating me by pointing out the usefulness of adorable animals, and in so doing, showing me the light- so I could see the error of my ways and repent... Saving one Chinese girl's soul at a time and by proxy, Chinese dogs.
I couldn't really form words because my jaw was on the floor, so I left rather than attempt a dialogue. But I guess it's appropriate. Her reaction, that is. I mean I talk at dogs in stupid voices like an idiot, so I guess she's allowed to talk at the Asians and be an idiot. In retrospect, the correct response should have been something along the lines of "Yes, it is a shame- that they're fabulous with ketchup."
I recalled afterwards an incident in grammar school when a girl on my bus turned to me one day to tell me about her Chinese take out experience which included cat hairs. She was certain that Chinese people were putting cats in her lo mein, and that I was in on it... There was a lot of intense, accusatory staring- I think she felt that if she stared me down long enough, I would admit to poaching the neighborhood strays. "They eat those in China. Which is where YOU'RE from." "I'm not Chinese, I'm American." "No you're not. You look Chinese to me. You're from there." Since your outward appearance obviously dictates everything about you, I decided she wouldn't appreciate my prepared spiel on adoption. "I don't eat cats. I'm not Chinese. But where I come from, we eat dogs. So if you're missing them in your neighborhood, now you know why." She mostly avoided eye contact after that incident. It seems that any time somebody finds dietary injustice at the expense of an animal, they blame the Chinese.
Somehow, the disciplinarians rarely really found my sense of humor very amusing.
Showtune Lyric: "At the end of the day you're another day older."
These are things that I tend to find hugely entertaining.
Anyway, to get to yoga, we cross from the parking lot through an organic market, a coffee shop, and then to the street on the other side. In the market, there were two women with seeing eye dogs that just so happened to be golden retrievers. Most people who have spent extended periods of time with me or joined me on a walk can tell you that I have an obnoxious/ridiculous habit of talking AT the animals that I see- particularly dogs. And I used to have a golden retriever so this was one of those times. "Aw...!!" (suspend judgment please, it's the only severely 'girly' thing that I do).
A random passerby took this as a cue to approach me.
"Yes, they're cute, aren't they?"
"Yeah, they really ar-"
"It's too bad that in China, they just eat them. Here, they help people."
I was a little confused as to why she'd chosen to tell me about her not-so-PC views on Chinese people. Until I remembered something. I look incredibly Asian. Actually, I am Asian. Just not Chinese- and based on my upbringing with American parents, I'm a New Englander.
I suppose she thought she was educating me by pointing out the usefulness of adorable animals, and in so doing, showing me the light- so I could see the error of my ways and repent... Saving one Chinese girl's soul at a time and by proxy, Chinese dogs.
I couldn't really form words because my jaw was on the floor, so I left rather than attempt a dialogue. But I guess it's appropriate. Her reaction, that is. I mean I talk at dogs in stupid voices like an idiot, so I guess she's allowed to talk at the Asians and be an idiot. In retrospect, the correct response should have been something along the lines of "Yes, it is a shame- that they're fabulous with ketchup."
I recalled afterwards an incident in grammar school when a girl on my bus turned to me one day to tell me about her Chinese take out experience which included cat hairs. She was certain that Chinese people were putting cats in her lo mein, and that I was in on it... There was a lot of intense, accusatory staring- I think she felt that if she stared me down long enough, I would admit to poaching the neighborhood strays. "They eat those in China. Which is where YOU'RE from." "I'm not Chinese, I'm American." "No you're not. You look Chinese to me. You're from there." Since your outward appearance obviously dictates everything about you, I decided she wouldn't appreciate my prepared spiel on adoption. "I don't eat cats. I'm not Chinese. But where I come from, we eat dogs. So if you're missing them in your neighborhood, now you know why." She mostly avoided eye contact after that incident. It seems that any time somebody finds dietary injustice at the expense of an animal, they blame the Chinese.
Somehow, the disciplinarians rarely really found my sense of humor very amusing.
Showtune Lyric: "At the end of the day you're another day older."
Monday, January 5, 2009
Yoga, Subsequent Rigamortis, & Embarassing Impoverished Students
Part of my New Year's resolution is to be somewhat healthier. I'm going to yoga. Okay, that might be partly a lie, I started going to yoga because my roommate had something of an intervention. Apparently, once you start adhering to the couch, you've been on it too long and it isn't terribly good for you. She thought yoga might be a good, low stress way to ease me back into the land of the living.
So yoga. It's actually more fun than I gave it credit for. My roommate gets all the credit for this, and did a good job and found a great place where the instructors are fun and nice and you leave with amazing super powers of flexibility- oh and when you get up in the morning have rigamortis and feel like you got run over by a street cleaner. Anyway, the only downside is that this whole new addiction/habit/thing is expensive. It has a negative effect on my wallet. And believe you me, the wallet is already thin.
We had to make a decision. We decided that while we love our yoga place, we should shop around and see if there were other good places that had more impoverished-student-friendly prices.
Enter Bikram yoga. Okay, so heated yoga never seemed like a terribly good idea in the first place- like 90 - 97 degrees sounded mildly horrendous. But after awhile, turned out to be awesome. Can 105 REALLY be THAT different? My logic, accumulated from conducting fieldwork in arid/tropical countries, said that well, after 95 it's about all the same anyway. I'm going to have to say that after closer investigation, I've discovered that my logic was crap because 10 degrees made a huge difference. Additionally, having a drill seargent as an instructor of a peaceful, meditative exercise wasn't fabulous.
She stood at the front of the room with a head piece like an aerobics instructor- I think that sing song in her voice was supposed to make us feel more crunchy granola and like she was guru-ish. Instead it just made it creepy when she yelled.
"Put the water down! We're not drinking water yet! You can have in after the 3rd set when I say you can!"
Oh yeah, absolutely, it's like hotter here than it ever gets in New England, and I'm dying, but sure, why not. I'll dehydrate. Bring it on.
My personal favorite:
"I was telling you to fix that if you could hear me- but you probably weren't even listening were you?"
"um... no, I could hear you..."
"...You could? So then you just chose to ignore me? Wow, unbelievable, why are you even paying me? Kids these days, don't even know what's going on in their heads."
So in relative terms I'm a kid, but I'm past the age of 18 now, and I'm pretty sure that once you can legally buy drinks for yourself, that people should no longer yell at you they way they would when correcting kindergardeners for stealing crayons from one another.
Showtune Lyric: "Master of the house, dolin' out the charm, ready with a handshake and an open palm."
So yoga. It's actually more fun than I gave it credit for. My roommate gets all the credit for this, and did a good job and found a great place where the instructors are fun and nice and you leave with amazing super powers of flexibility- oh and when you get up in the morning have rigamortis and feel like you got run over by a street cleaner. Anyway, the only downside is that this whole new addiction/habit/thing is expensive. It has a negative effect on my wallet. And believe you me, the wallet is already thin.
We had to make a decision. We decided that while we love our yoga place, we should shop around and see if there were other good places that had more impoverished-student-friendly prices.
Enter Bikram yoga. Okay, so heated yoga never seemed like a terribly good idea in the first place- like 90 - 97 degrees sounded mildly horrendous. But after awhile, turned out to be awesome. Can 105 REALLY be THAT different? My logic, accumulated from conducting fieldwork in arid/tropical countries, said that well, after 95 it's about all the same anyway. I'm going to have to say that after closer investigation, I've discovered that my logic was crap because 10 degrees made a huge difference. Additionally, having a drill seargent as an instructor of a peaceful, meditative exercise wasn't fabulous.
She stood at the front of the room with a head piece like an aerobics instructor- I think that sing song in her voice was supposed to make us feel more crunchy granola and like she was guru-ish. Instead it just made it creepy when she yelled.
"Put the water down! We're not drinking water yet! You can have in after the 3rd set when I say you can!"
Oh yeah, absolutely, it's like hotter here than it ever gets in New England, and I'm dying, but sure, why not. I'll dehydrate. Bring it on.
My personal favorite:
"I was telling you to fix that if you could hear me- but you probably weren't even listening were you?"
"um... no, I could hear you..."
"...You could? So then you just chose to ignore me? Wow, unbelievable, why are you even paying me? Kids these days, don't even know what's going on in their heads."
So in relative terms I'm a kid, but I'm past the age of 18 now, and I'm pretty sure that once you can legally buy drinks for yourself, that people should no longer yell at you they way they would when correcting kindergardeners for stealing crayons from one another.
Showtune Lyric: "Master of the house, dolin' out the charm, ready with a handshake and an open palm."
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