Christmas Eve was the best ever. According to Dad, I say "best ever" about a lot of things, but this was actually the case: straight-down snow; "O Holy Night" at midnight mass; lobsters for dinner; writing; celery and conversation at the holiday party I've been to every year of my life but twice.
I don't know what Christmases will look like in the future--where I'll be traveling from or how much time I'll have to be home--but if this was going to be the last of the traditional ones, it was everything I could have asked for.
Also, of course, the Christmas Day/Boxing Day visit by Beer 'n' Cheese. Now I know all about George Sanders' rumba lessons.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
I keep looping "O Holy Night" to get myself in the mood for Winter Break. (I know once I get home it'll be "Christmas Baby Please Come Home" 24/7, and rightly so.) I know I'm hardly the only one to say that this is my favorite Christmas carol, or that it gives me chills (for real), or that it makes me want to cry, but it's all true.
I think the chances are good that there will be snow while I'm home.
I recommend against actually watching this--the outfits and facial expressions kind of weird me out--but navigate to another page and listen.
I think the chances are good that there will be snow while I'm home.
I recommend against actually watching this--the outfits and facial expressions kind of weird me out--but navigate to another page and listen.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Happy Birthday to Me!
So far today I have: gone to prison, gone to class, picked up The Cake, commiserated with Ha Ha over hilarious e-mail gaffe, gotten fortunetelling ape card in the mail, opened froomie presents with froomies while eating said Cake and listening to The Killers, rolled around on the floor as a result of one such present, gone with froomies to Mehek where we ate delicious Indian food and got thoroughly confused over the bill (the economist and the financial engineer figured it out eventually), responded to dozens of facebook/e-mail greetings.
And it continues. Free massages and facials on the horizon! Yo ho!
So far today I have: gone to prison, gone to class, picked up The Cake, commiserated with Ha Ha over hilarious e-mail gaffe, gotten fortunetelling ape card in the mail, opened froomie presents with froomies while eating said Cake and listening to The Killers, rolled around on the floor as a result of one such present, gone with froomies to Mehek where we ate delicious Indian food and got thoroughly confused over the bill (the economist and the financial engineer figured it out eventually), responded to dozens of facebook/e-mail greetings.
And it continues. Free massages and facials on the horizon! Yo ho!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
I need to stop getting so real in these application essays if I ever hope to unfurrow my brow again. It's not that they're depressing, or that I'm sad, but the writing process is just so intense and the stuff I'm writing about (at least for this one) is still so recent that writing about it entails reliving it a bit. Basically I'm writing about this blog entry but in, you know, 500 words, not 12.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
This year I am thankful for:
Subcontinent--I feel like I needed a lot of advice this year, and most of it I found within myself, or by listening to StoryCorps, or by re-reading my religious text of choice, The History Boys, but the handful of times I let her know what I was thinking and what I was facing she was there, not only with encouragement but with sympathy as well, and that's more rare than you would think.
Roommate J--for similar reasons, but mostly for our epic summer e-mails and for the original works of art she is constantly providing to decorate my room. The froomies know what I mean.
Anthony Blunt--I'm going to London in January to read his memoir. They gave me money and everything. My thesis topic rocks, and it's because the Cambridge spies are crazy-fascinating to everyone.
Joseph Gordon-Levitt--Oh my goodness.
The Aged Ps--Parents who give not only the gift of friendship and flawless parenting but also the freedom to spend a year off doing what I want are definitely something to be thankful for.
Also: peppermint tea; Cornel West's music-only lecture; The Civilians; SWAN Day; tea chats with K; carrel parties with A; perfect reunions with HarvardGirl and StOlafBoy; chocolate chip cookies; learning to make The Chocolate Sauce; the venerable Subaru; Bottles of St. Pourcain; A Suitable Boy; the constant companionship of Four Weddings and a Funeral and Some Like It Hot; RedHead, who told me I was one of her favorite writers when I most needed to hear it; Lawnparties photo shoots; the Spelman Hall nuclear family; Midori sours; Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson; "One day I had to admit to myself that I was a Bert, not an Ernie."; San Francisco; John Le Carré, George Smiley's glasses-cleaning habits, Young Peter Guillam, and Jim Prideaux (breaking readers' hearts since 1974); champagne, mixed nuts, pedicures, and dress-up; Jane Eyre adaptations; posters; sinister swedes; Kate Bularski; oral history; "Entrepreneeeeuuuurrr"; the carpet on the floor of my room at Princeton.
Subcontinent--I feel like I needed a lot of advice this year, and most of it I found within myself, or by listening to StoryCorps, or by re-reading my religious text of choice, The History Boys, but the handful of times I let her know what I was thinking and what I was facing she was there, not only with encouragement but with sympathy as well, and that's more rare than you would think.
Roommate J--for similar reasons, but mostly for our epic summer e-mails and for the original works of art she is constantly providing to decorate my room. The froomies know what I mean.
Anthony Blunt--I'm going to London in January to read his memoir. They gave me money and everything. My thesis topic rocks, and it's because the Cambridge spies are crazy-fascinating to everyone.
Joseph Gordon-Levitt--Oh my goodness.
The Aged Ps--Parents who give not only the gift of friendship and flawless parenting but also the freedom to spend a year off doing what I want are definitely something to be thankful for.
Also: peppermint tea; Cornel West's music-only lecture; The Civilians; SWAN Day; tea chats with K; carrel parties with A; perfect reunions with HarvardGirl and StOlafBoy; chocolate chip cookies; learning to make The Chocolate Sauce; the venerable Subaru; Bottles of St. Pourcain; A Suitable Boy; the constant companionship of Four Weddings and a Funeral and Some Like It Hot; RedHead, who told me I was one of her favorite writers when I most needed to hear it; Lawnparties photo shoots; the Spelman Hall nuclear family; Midori sours; Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson; "One day I had to admit to myself that I was a Bert, not an Ernie."; San Francisco; John Le Carré, George Smiley's glasses-cleaning habits, Young Peter Guillam, and Jim Prideaux (breaking readers' hearts since 1974); champagne, mixed nuts, pedicures, and dress-up; Jane Eyre adaptations; posters; sinister swedes; Kate Bularski; oral history; "Entrepreneeeeuuuurrr"; the carpet on the floor of my room at Princeton.
Speeding through the rest so I can do my annual Thanksgiving post...
Day Two
With Dad, we walked to the bakery where we met with A, a former student of Dad's, and where, while the Aged Ps and A were talking, I spotted Philip Seymour Hoffman. We then spent the rest of the day hurrying around assembling the food for that evening's gathering of friends and family who had come to LA for the opening, with a brief pause to drive around and spot banners for the show. We didn't have to go far and took pictures of banners hanging on Sunset Boulevard. The Neighbors flew out from Iowa, Subcontinent, Parents of Subcontinent, Mom's entire family, and Aunt and Uncle J were among the assembled, which also included B´and E, E's mom, and B the Awesome and her brother and his best friend. I kicked off my weekend schmoozing with this exchange:
Brother: So who here works at the Getty?
Me: Just [B the Awesome]. And then my mother's the co-curator and the rest of us are her posse.
Best Friend: Her entourage.
Me: Yes.
Brother: I need an entourage.
Best Friend: We can be each other's entourage.
Me: I think the technical term is wing man.
Best Friend: Only when you're cruising.
You learn something every day.
Day Three
This was the night of the donor dinner, which was kicked off by B the Awesome and Mom taking the donors (and Brother of B the Awesome, and Dad, and me) through the exhibit and explaining a few things in each room. Not only was it incredibly beautiful and huge and well laid-out, it was amazing to finally see the results of eight years of almost constant work. At one point I turned to Dad and said, "I think you married a rock star," to which his reply was, "I knew that in 1974."
The dinner itself was quite impressive. I was seated at the fun table with the public affairs/donor relations guy, Lawyer Super Cool and his equally cool wife, and these people, the elder of whom informed me that I had a very warm and lively voice and that if Princeton boys weren't beating down my door there was something wrong with them and, gesturing at me up and down, "As they say in Latin, it speaks for itself."
So there you go.
Everyone was full of compliments for the show and Mom and B the Awesome (even before I introduced myself), which I cataloged and recited in the car on the way back to the apartment.
Day Four
The opening was incredible. Dad and I showed up with Mom at 5:30, and while she and B the Awesome and E went upstairs for the press conference, we sat and watched the staff kick into high gear and assemble the party areas, both outside and inside. By the time The Neighbors arrived, everything was ready.
Over the course of the evening, about 250 people came in and out, looking at the exhibit and admiring it, eating the food, and chatting with each other. One of the more exciting exchanges of the evening:
Mom, to Jodie Foster: I like your work.
Jodie Foster, to Mom: Well, I like your work.
Also I wore my new dress. It was a hit.
Day Five
We spent the day at the museum. Mom took friends through the exhibit for slightly more personal tours, and I sat in the great outdoors, read Moby Dick, and waved hello to the acting museum head, who knew me by name at this point. I also bought a t-shirt and a mug. Those were highly necessary purchases.
Eavesdropping on people we didn't know going through the exhibit was great. They had universally nice things to say about it, and the amount of time people spent pouring over the manuscripts was quite impressive.
I flew out on the red-eye and sat next to a woman with a stuffed dog. "I missed my two little pomeranians so much that I brought this one to keep me company."
"What are their names?"
"Ginger and Godiva."
Can I go back to California, please?
Day Two
With Dad, we walked to the bakery where we met with A, a former student of Dad's, and where, while the Aged Ps and A were talking, I spotted Philip Seymour Hoffman. We then spent the rest of the day hurrying around assembling the food for that evening's gathering of friends and family who had come to LA for the opening, with a brief pause to drive around and spot banners for the show. We didn't have to go far and took pictures of banners hanging on Sunset Boulevard. The Neighbors flew out from Iowa, Subcontinent, Parents of Subcontinent, Mom's entire family, and Aunt and Uncle J were among the assembled, which also included B´and E, E's mom, and B the Awesome and her brother and his best friend. I kicked off my weekend schmoozing with this exchange:
Brother: So who here works at the Getty?
Me: Just [B the Awesome]. And then my mother's the co-curator and the rest of us are her posse.
Best Friend: Her entourage.
Me: Yes.
Brother: I need an entourage.
Best Friend: We can be each other's entourage.
Me: I think the technical term is wing man.
Best Friend: Only when you're cruising.
You learn something every day.
Day Three
This was the night of the donor dinner, which was kicked off by B the Awesome and Mom taking the donors (and Brother of B the Awesome, and Dad, and me) through the exhibit and explaining a few things in each room. Not only was it incredibly beautiful and huge and well laid-out, it was amazing to finally see the results of eight years of almost constant work. At one point I turned to Dad and said, "I think you married a rock star," to which his reply was, "I knew that in 1974."
The dinner itself was quite impressive. I was seated at the fun table with the public affairs/donor relations guy, Lawyer Super Cool and his equally cool wife, and these people, the elder of whom informed me that I had a very warm and lively voice and that if Princeton boys weren't beating down my door there was something wrong with them and, gesturing at me up and down, "As they say in Latin, it speaks for itself."
So there you go.
Everyone was full of compliments for the show and Mom and B the Awesome (even before I introduced myself), which I cataloged and recited in the car on the way back to the apartment.
Day Four
The opening was incredible. Dad and I showed up with Mom at 5:30, and while she and B the Awesome and E went upstairs for the press conference, we sat and watched the staff kick into high gear and assemble the party areas, both outside and inside. By the time The Neighbors arrived, everything was ready.
Over the course of the evening, about 250 people came in and out, looking at the exhibit and admiring it, eating the food, and chatting with each other. One of the more exciting exchanges of the evening:
Mom, to Jodie Foster: I like your work.
Jodie Foster, to Mom: Well, I like your work.
Also I wore my new dress. It was a hit.
Day Five
We spent the day at the museum. Mom took friends through the exhibit for slightly more personal tours, and I sat in the great outdoors, read Moby Dick, and waved hello to the acting museum head, who knew me by name at this point. I also bought a t-shirt and a mug. Those were highly necessary purchases.
Eavesdropping on people we didn't know going through the exhibit was great. They had universally nice things to say about it, and the amount of time people spent pouring over the manuscripts was quite impressive.
I flew out on the red-eye and sat next to a woman with a stuffed dog. "I missed my two little pomeranians so much that I brought this one to keep me company."
"What are their names?"
"Ginger and Godiva."
Can I go back to California, please?
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Day One
Mom and I got up and walked down to the bakery where we indulged in hard-won chocolate croissants and made plans. After a walk to the nearby Whole Foods for supplies (including Old Chubb for Dad, arriving by plane that night), we drove down to Santa Monica, ostensibly to buy me flip-flops for the afternoon nail outing.
Now, those who know me know that I'm a practical shopper. I like to stay stocked in the essentials but beyond that I'm more likely to make impulse purchases of books or DVDs than clothes. So when Mom and I walked into Anthropologie I had no expectations beyond perhaps scoping out things that would probably show up on the Princeton Anthro clearance rack in a few months. Imagine my surprise when I glanced over and had Falling In Love With A Dress Moment #3* of my life. This dress was blue. It had an A-line skirt. It...you know what? Why don't I just show it to you.
I know, right?Reader, I bought it. Or to be more accurate, I went and tried it on for form's sake and then Mom bought it with some of her mad money. She was excited and I was even more excited. Thanks, Mom!
From Santa Monica we drove over to B the Awesome's apartment. B the Awesome, in addition to being one of my role models, is Mom's co-curator for the show. We were joined by B´and E, fiancées extraordinaire, and the five of us went to get our nails done. It was Subcontinent who introduced me to pedicures some time before some prom, and not only am I incredibly ticklish on the soles of my feet, I find it kind of weird to hand someone my feet (so to speak) and let them go at it. It's kind of like how you're not allowed to pump your own gas in New Jersey. It's weird. But whatever, communal pedicures are fun, and it's totally worth the weirdness for the time spent sitting in a massage chair with your feet in warm water.
After we were done we returned to B the Awesome's place for champagne, mixed nuts, and wedding talk. We also started trying on dresses and modeling them for each other. It was somewhere around this point that I realized this was the girliest day of my life and it was awesome.
The rest of the day shook out nicely as well. Mom and I grabbed a quick bite to eat before picking Dad up at LAX. It turned out he had had typical de Plume luck running from plane to plane and fighting his way to his seat, so we were especially glad to see him landed in one piece.
[to be continued]
*Moment #1 was at Fashion Tomato in Chicago. It was my junior year prom dress and I yearn for the day when I am invited to the event when wearing it again would be appropriate. Moment #2 was also in Anthropologie, this time in Princeton last spring, and the dress was cacti print. In all three instances the dress was full price. That also never happens.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
I have almost fallen asleep in three classes at this point, but it's been completely worth it for the extended weekend I had.
Day Zero
Get up, pack, go to class, go get a haircut, go have tea with friend K, pick up backpack, get on the Dinky and ride to Newark where my plane is on time but where it takes the passengers an hour and a half to board. Seriously, Continental. I love you and all but when you start charging for checked bags you cannot:
a) let people with more than one suitcase on the plane
b) let anyone board in any order besides back-to-front. (Because Elite Access? Is the opposite of helpful.)
Then we were finally in the air and I read Moby Dick (why has no one told me how not-painful this book can be?) and tried to keep my legs from cramping up (overstuffed backpack dutifully stowed beneath the seat in front of me, thankyouverymuch) while drinking copious water and bouncing up and down in my seat from excitement. My destination, you see, was Los Angeles, where Mom had an eight-years-in-the-making exhibit opening.
[to be continued]
Day Zero
Get up, pack, go to class, go get a haircut, go have tea with friend K, pick up backpack, get on the Dinky and ride to Newark where my plane is on time but where it takes the passengers an hour and a half to board. Seriously, Continental. I love you and all but when you start charging for checked bags you cannot:
a) let people with more than one suitcase on the plane
b) let anyone board in any order besides back-to-front. (Because Elite Access? Is the opposite of helpful.)
Then we were finally in the air and I read Moby Dick (why has no one told me how not-painful this book can be?) and tried to keep my legs from cramping up (overstuffed backpack dutifully stowed beneath the seat in front of me, thankyouverymuch) while drinking copious water and bouncing up and down in my seat from excitement. My destination, you see, was Los Angeles, where Mom had an eight-years-in-the-making exhibit opening.
[to be continued]
Thursday, November 4, 2010
I...did better on math than on verbal in the GRE. What is going on?!? The good news is that I did reasonably well on both, and as of this moment I don't foresee taking it again. Of course, I'm sitting at home for Fall Break saying this. Once I'm swept back into the campus rat race I may have another story to tell.
Anyway, it's been a busy but good break. I've got a day and a half left until I wing my way back to Jersey, and I still have to write a lab report and pick up my contacts, but of the mound of things I came here with, those are the only things remaining. So that's always a good feeling.
Another good feeling: coming back from a 3-hour standardized test to eat cookies, watch a Joseph Gordon-Levitt movie (remember how much I owe him), and then start the process of laying out my future (i.e. do hardcore planning for these fellowships I'm applying to).
It's cold and rainy but the fall leaves still look good and tonight I'm going to grab drinks at The Bar with Middle School Classmate. So life is pretty good right now.
(Also, CC got a job and Roommate J keeps getting into med schools. How did it come to this?!?)
Anyway, it's been a busy but good break. I've got a day and a half left until I wing my way back to Jersey, and I still have to write a lab report and pick up my contacts, but of the mound of things I came here with, those are the only things remaining. So that's always a good feeling.
Another good feeling: coming back from a 3-hour standardized test to eat cookies, watch a Joseph Gordon-Levitt movie (remember how much I owe him), and then start the process of laying out my future (i.e. do hardcore planning for these fellowships I'm applying to).
It's cold and rainy but the fall leaves still look good and tonight I'm going to grab drinks at The Bar with Middle School Classmate. So life is pretty good right now.
(Also, CC got a job and Roommate J keeps getting into med schools. How did it come to this?!?)
Monday, November 1, 2010
And the Senior Year Retrospective begins!
I expected a lot of things out of life at Princeton. Some things I expected to happen didn't (either never will or haven't yet and probably won't), some things I never saw coming and have been some of the best memories of my life, and some things I thought might happen have been ever better than expected. For instance, did I think I would make friends? Of course. Did I think the friends I made would be the kind I can't go twenty-four hours without e-mailing with stories, mostly all in caps lock? NO OF COURSE NOT BUT I'M SO HAPPY I WAS WRONG.
I expected a lot of things out of life at Princeton. Some things I expected to happen didn't (either never will or haven't yet and probably won't), some things I never saw coming and have been some of the best memories of my life, and some things I thought might happen have been ever better than expected. For instance, did I think I would make friends? Of course. Did I think the friends I made would be the kind I can't go twenty-four hours without e-mailing with stories, mostly all in caps lock? NO OF COURSE NOT BUT I'M SO HAPPY I WAS WRONG.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Last weekend I drove down to DC to visit Intern T from Florida in his new digs. It was a really great visit and it was awesome seeing Intern T again and hearing that he's doing so well and loves his new job and city so much. We went and saw Circle Mirror Transformation, which was a play I wasn't familiar with and really enjoyed. If I carried one purely positive thing away from my class with JCO last semester, it was to pay attention to the difference between plays, novels, etc. you could have written and ones beyond your reach. And then, when you run into one of the ones you could have written, feel good about it.
After the play we walked around the Mall area, took pictures with monuments, and decided that D.C. is the City of Nerds (for any number of reasons, but mostly the Racing Presidents--Jefferson always loses!--and the license plates). We ate dinner at a Mexican restaurant in Chinatown and then headed back to his place to drink champagne and watch "A Very Potter Musical." And if that is not the epitome of classy, I don't know what is.
This week was long, and rough, and I've been doing practically nothing ever since I discharged my last duty on Thursday. There are things I could be doing, but the things I've been doing instead--Glee Club Concert featuring HSClassmate, drinks with K, an awesome long-lost friend from Writing Seminar freshman year, leaf peeping on the tow path, and going to see The Social Network and rekindling my love of Aaron Sorkin dialogue and igniting a new-found interest in jock-y rowers-- have been pretty darn great. Tonight: more nothing--rest and recovery from the nothing that came before it. Tomorrow: down to business cleaning the bathroom, having brunch with SoccerRoommate, and getting measured for a graduation gown.
Oh, and that pesky homework thing. That too.
After the play we walked around the Mall area, took pictures with monuments, and decided that D.C. is the City of Nerds (for any number of reasons, but mostly the Racing Presidents--Jefferson always loses!--and the license plates). We ate dinner at a Mexican restaurant in Chinatown and then headed back to his place to drink champagne and watch "A Very Potter Musical." And if that is not the epitome of classy, I don't know what is.
This week was long, and rough, and I've been doing practically nothing ever since I discharged my last duty on Thursday. There are things I could be doing, but the things I've been doing instead--Glee Club Concert featuring HSClassmate, drinks with K, an awesome long-lost friend from Writing Seminar freshman year, leaf peeping on the tow path, and going to see The Social Network and rekindling my love of Aaron Sorkin dialogue and igniting a new-found interest in jock-y rowers-- have been pretty darn great. Tonight: more nothing--rest and recovery from the nothing that came before it. Tomorrow: down to business cleaning the bathroom, having brunch with SoccerRoommate, and getting measured for a graduation gown.
Oh, and that pesky homework thing. That too.
Friday, October 8, 2010
I finally figured out what was making me so miserable and stressed out about planning for the upcoming year: I thought I was being flexible and instead I was being inflexible. My plans were such that I felt like I was passing up on some of Princeton's great hold-your-hand opportunities. So I threw all my plans away and started anew. I'll apply to a variety of one-year projects and fellowships and keep my options open. If I get to Dublin, I'll get to Dublin. If I don't it's because I'm doing something even more amazing.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
It rarely happens in college that anyone achieves the perfect balance of calm and productivity, but somehow yesterday it happened to me.
In the morning I got up and strolled over to the Witherspoon Bread Company, where I get my weekly pain au chocolat and San Pellegrino Aranciata. I ate that sitting outside in one of my two favorite places to sit on campus (super-secret, to avoid overcrowding). Then I went inside, because there was a bit of a nip in the air, and breezed through half of my reading for the week. Yes. The week. The difference between taking three classes and four classes is so much more significant than the difference between taking four and five classes. Trust me on this. The weekend is now manageable.
After that, I went back to the dorm room, pumped up my bicycle tires, packed a sack, and biked down to the tow path where I read for about two hours on my favorite bench overlooking Lake Carnegie. It was perfect sweater weather: not a cloud in the sky and a high of seventy. Around four forty I started the trek back, returning in time to clean the bathroom (every weekend someone takes a turn) and take a shower before CC made us all dinner and we ate together in the suddenly classy living/dining room.
I had some time to kill so I worked on my thesis reading a bit before heading out with Roommate J at 11:30 to watch the weekly free screening at The Garden. This week was Toy Story 3. I laughed, I cried, I developed an unhealthy attachment to an animated 17 year-old.
It was a good day.
In the morning I got up and strolled over to the Witherspoon Bread Company, where I get my weekly pain au chocolat and San Pellegrino Aranciata. I ate that sitting outside in one of my two favorite places to sit on campus (super-secret, to avoid overcrowding). Then I went inside, because there was a bit of a nip in the air, and breezed through half of my reading for the week. Yes. The week. The difference between taking three classes and four classes is so much more significant than the difference between taking four and five classes. Trust me on this. The weekend is now manageable.
After that, I went back to the dorm room, pumped up my bicycle tires, packed a sack, and biked down to the tow path where I read for about two hours on my favorite bench overlooking Lake Carnegie. It was perfect sweater weather: not a cloud in the sky and a high of seventy. Around four forty I started the trek back, returning in time to clean the bathroom (every weekend someone takes a turn) and take a shower before CC made us all dinner and we ate together in the suddenly classy living/dining room.
I had some time to kill so I worked on my thesis reading a bit before heading out with Roommate J at 11:30 to watch the weekly free screening at The Garden. This week was Toy Story 3. I laughed, I cried, I developed an unhealthy attachment to an animated 17 year-old.
It was a good day.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
RIP, Tony Curtis. You sound like you could be a bit of a jerk sometimes, but you're in my favorite movie ever and you make me laugh with your Cary Grant impression, so you get a pass.
In other news: it was my first day back at prison tutoring today. It went really well--better than all my days last semester--and I was paired with the same teacher and had some of the same students, so I can build on my success. So that's good.
I have come up with the best weekend schedule ever.
Today: Nothing. (I got up at 6:50 for prison, after all, and then was a nonstop motion blur until my only class of the day ended at 12:30). Except the froomies and I are seeing Toy Story 3 for free tonight.
Tomorrow: Thesis! Erm...Julian.
Saturday: Regular homework.
Sunday: Everything else.
Perfect.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
You know who's awesome? David Simon. You know who aren't awesome? Emmy voters. You know what is awesome? David Simon getting a MacArthur instead. That's right.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Happy Banned Books Week!
No, I have not radically changed my personality in honor of today, the real beginning of senior year (a.k.a. the first time I've whipped out my rain boots). Celebrating Banned Books Week doesn't mean that you seek to have books banned. Rather, it honors books that have, at one time or another, been banned or challenged. How do you do that, you may ask? The New York Times has a few helpful suggestions. I, of course, was particularly drawn to number five. That's "blog all about it," for those of you too lazy to click on a little linkage.
I, unlike those I admonish (lovingly!), am not afraid to click on links, and so I fell with glee upon those offered up by the Times, and followed one to this list the ALA has compiled of the Top 100 (by now we all know how much the de Plumes like top whatever lists) of 2000-2009. I was surprised (but not too surprised) at how many of these books were books for young readers--children and young adults--and how many of these books were either classics or just out on shelves when I was young. The time frame is right for it, of course; I was eleven for the majority of 2000.
The other thing that surprised me (but not too much) looking at this list was how many of the books were, for lack of a better word at this hour on a Monday night, boring. Innocuous, would probably be better. Well-written, for the most part, but they didn't capture my imagination or become one of my legion of childhood or continuing obsessions. Julie of the Wolves was just okay, everyone always liked The Giver more than I did, and Go Ask Alice was just pulpy.
Of course, To Kill a Mockingbird is one of the best books I've ever read. The movie holds up surprisingly well too. His Dark Materials, while not my favorite Philip Pullman series, deserves recognition, at least the first two books. And then there's Beloved and Slaughterhouse-Five and The Kite Runner and Fahrenheit 451 (oh the irony) and A Wrinkle in Time and...oh okay fine. They're not all innocuous. Not at all. But my point remains. Some of them are and a lot of them are children's books and what exactly does this mean, anyway?
And then there's Speak. Speak is a young adult novel about a girl who is sexually assaulted and stops talking. Seeking to silence that particular story follows the worst kind of logic. Yes, the story is upsetting. It's supposed to be. It's also educational and well-crafted and miserable and entertaining and plot and character driven (something not all "adult" novels can claim) and shocking and, hopefully, thought-provoking. And it has a happy ending! So what's the problem? Are we supposed to pretend these things don't happen? That can't be right. Is it that they're afraid this book might fall into the hands of younger children? Now we might be getting somewhere.
Yes. I read Mists of Avalon before I was ready. I read a lot of things before I was ready. But "not ready" doesn't mean that I was warped and horrified and unable to go on to healthy teen years and adulthood. "Ready" just means that you understand what you're reading and that you can think critically about it and engage the way you're supposed to. By that definition, I would argue that the majority of those seeking to ban these books aren't ready to read the books on the list.
There are books I'm still not ready for. I'm just about to start the fourth book of a quartet that has me constantly questioning myself and the author and what I expect books to do and what I expect authors to owe their readers (and no, this isn't the Raj Quartet; it's the Red Riding Quartet; I seem to have a problem with quartets) and what it's okay to say and what violence it's okay to depict and why I'm reading it and...I could go on. But I'm getting there, and one of the joys of reading is re-reading and, finally, understanding. If banning books is about protecting children (and, I mean, what isn't?) then that strategy needs to be rethought. The Top 100 list the ALA provides is full of books about historical wrongs (some of which have yet to be made right), people of different races and sexualities and religious beliefs, alternate realities, realistic depictions of puberty, and, in the case of Goosebumps, some really silly scary stories.
What they are is complicated. What they are not is dangerous. Not by themselves. Children can tell the difference. Give them some credit.
No, I have not radically changed my personality in honor of today, the real beginning of senior year (a.k.a. the first time I've whipped out my rain boots). Celebrating Banned Books Week doesn't mean that you seek to have books banned. Rather, it honors books that have, at one time or another, been banned or challenged. How do you do that, you may ask? The New York Times has a few helpful suggestions. I, of course, was particularly drawn to number five. That's "blog all about it," for those of you too lazy to click on a little linkage.
I, unlike those I admonish (lovingly!), am not afraid to click on links, and so I fell with glee upon those offered up by the Times, and followed one to this list the ALA has compiled of the Top 100 (by now we all know how much the de Plumes like top whatever lists) of 2000-2009. I was surprised (but not too surprised) at how many of these books were books for young readers--children and young adults--and how many of these books were either classics or just out on shelves when I was young. The time frame is right for it, of course; I was eleven for the majority of 2000.
The other thing that surprised me (but not too much) looking at this list was how many of the books were, for lack of a better word at this hour on a Monday night, boring. Innocuous, would probably be better. Well-written, for the most part, but they didn't capture my imagination or become one of my legion of childhood or continuing obsessions. Julie of the Wolves was just okay, everyone always liked The Giver more than I did, and Go Ask Alice was just pulpy.
Of course, To Kill a Mockingbird is one of the best books I've ever read. The movie holds up surprisingly well too. His Dark Materials, while not my favorite Philip Pullman series, deserves recognition, at least the first two books. And then there's Beloved and Slaughterhouse-Five and The Kite Runner and Fahrenheit 451 (oh the irony) and A Wrinkle in Time and...oh okay fine. They're not all innocuous. Not at all. But my point remains. Some of them are and a lot of them are children's books and what exactly does this mean, anyway?
And then there's Speak. Speak is a young adult novel about a girl who is sexually assaulted and stops talking. Seeking to silence that particular story follows the worst kind of logic. Yes, the story is upsetting. It's supposed to be. It's also educational and well-crafted and miserable and entertaining and plot and character driven (something not all "adult" novels can claim) and shocking and, hopefully, thought-provoking. And it has a happy ending! So what's the problem? Are we supposed to pretend these things don't happen? That can't be right. Is it that they're afraid this book might fall into the hands of younger children? Now we might be getting somewhere.
Yes. I read Mists of Avalon before I was ready. I read a lot of things before I was ready. But "not ready" doesn't mean that I was warped and horrified and unable to go on to healthy teen years and adulthood. "Ready" just means that you understand what you're reading and that you can think critically about it and engage the way you're supposed to. By that definition, I would argue that the majority of those seeking to ban these books aren't ready to read the books on the list.
There are books I'm still not ready for. I'm just about to start the fourth book of a quartet that has me constantly questioning myself and the author and what I expect books to do and what I expect authors to owe their readers (and no, this isn't the Raj Quartet; it's the Red Riding Quartet; I seem to have a problem with quartets) and what it's okay to say and what violence it's okay to depict and why I'm reading it and...I could go on. But I'm getting there, and one of the joys of reading is re-reading and, finally, understanding. If banning books is about protecting children (and, I mean, what isn't?) then that strategy needs to be rethought. The Top 100 list the ALA provides is full of books about historical wrongs (some of which have yet to be made right), people of different races and sexualities and religious beliefs, alternate realities, realistic depictions of puberty, and, in the case of Goosebumps, some really silly scary stories.
What they are is complicated. What they are not is dangerous. Not by themselves. Children can tell the difference. Give them some credit.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Just got back from seeing our last ever freshman Triangle Show with Roommate J. Strangely (typically?) we didn't get nostalgic at the sentimental favorite "Princeton Is An Old Folks Home," but rather at the all-male drag kick line "Ravenous," which is the best and most innuendo-filled song we've ever seen performed by Triangle (and we've seen it three times now). What are we doing to do without gangly men dressed like Velma Kelly soaring through our lives?
I didn't watch any TV between Wishbone and The West Wing. I didn't listen to any music on the radio beyond the oldies and public radio stations until I was a freshman in high school. Despite all this, or perhaps because of it, I've managed to develop a healthy appreciation of pop culture in my late teens and early twenties. I recently read somewhere else that someone hadn't grown up with pop music, she had grown into it.
I think part of the reason I enjoy Top 40, and hip-hop, and rock, and basically everything but heavy metal and country (there are some exceptions, of course) so much is that, no, the lyrics are not always searing commentaries on the vagaries of human existence and, yes, sometimes an artist will rhyme "baby," "day," and "pain," (but hey, it's slant rhyme), but in every song I like there's something that touches me. There's either the sound I can't get out of my head or that one lyric that makes me want to sing along in the car, or that makes my heart clench up.
Sometimes it just comes down to what makes you want to plug in your iPod and go jogging, or throw your hands up in the air and dance around while you're home for fall break and making cookies, or cry without a real reason. Sometimes even the tritest lyrics have a kernel of truth; that's how they get to be clichés.
(And then there's Coldplay. They constantly do all of the above to me, and yet I don't feel the need to defend them. There's substance in their lyrics, and they can sing too.)
I started thinking about this so much because of my family's Top 500 Songs compilation, and the fact that if we each made our own Top 500s they would be completely different lists, perhaps not even recognizable as related to the other, original list. Probably, this would be the most true of my list. I won't try and see--I don't have that kind of time--but here, without shame, are some lyrics in fairly mainstream songs that make me pause and think, or laugh.
"I throw my hands up in the air sometimes." "I think that she knows." "That boy is a monster; he ate my heart." "Well you may be a lover but you ain't no dancer." "Please, please, don't leave me." "I live by the river." "Oooh, you set my soul alight." "Life is a mystery." "I'd like to make myself believe that planet Earth turns slowly." "Can you meet me halfway, right at the borderline? That's where I'm gonna wait for you." "What we gonna have: dessert or disaster?" "If I don't say this now, I will surely break. [...] I'll look after you." "Why does love always feel like a battlefield? Guess you better go and get your armor." "Tell your boyfriend, if he says he's got beef, that I'm a vegetarian and I ain't fucking scared of him." "You try making me wait, but it feels all right as long as something's happening."
*"Dynamite," Taio Cruz; "Lovestoned," Justin Timberlake; "Monster," Lady Gaga; "Helter Skelter," The Beatles; "Please Don't Leave Me," P!nk; "London Calling," The Clash; "Supermassive Black Hole," Muse; "Like A Prayer," Madonna; "Fireflies," Owl City; "Meet Me Halfway," Black Eyed Peas; "Knock You Down," Keri Hilson; "Look After You," The Fray; "Battlefield," Jordin Sparks; "Don't Trust Me," 3OH!3; "Tribulations," LCD Soundsystem
I think part of the reason I enjoy Top 40, and hip-hop, and rock, and basically everything but heavy metal and country (there are some exceptions, of course) so much is that, no, the lyrics are not always searing commentaries on the vagaries of human existence and, yes, sometimes an artist will rhyme "baby," "day," and "pain," (but hey, it's slant rhyme), but in every song I like there's something that touches me. There's either the sound I can't get out of my head or that one lyric that makes me want to sing along in the car, or that makes my heart clench up.
Sometimes it just comes down to what makes you want to plug in your iPod and go jogging, or throw your hands up in the air and dance around while you're home for fall break and making cookies, or cry without a real reason. Sometimes even the tritest lyrics have a kernel of truth; that's how they get to be clichés.
(And then there's Coldplay. They constantly do all of the above to me, and yet I don't feel the need to defend them. There's substance in their lyrics, and they can sing too.)
I started thinking about this so much because of my family's Top 500 Songs compilation, and the fact that if we each made our own Top 500s they would be completely different lists, perhaps not even recognizable as related to the other, original list. Probably, this would be the most true of my list. I won't try and see--I don't have that kind of time--but here, without shame, are some lyrics in fairly mainstream songs that make me pause and think, or laugh.
"I throw my hands up in the air sometimes." "I think that she knows." "That boy is a monster; he ate my heart." "Well you may be a lover but you ain't no dancer." "Please, please, don't leave me." "I live by the river." "Oooh, you set my soul alight." "Life is a mystery." "I'd like to make myself believe that planet Earth turns slowly." "Can you meet me halfway, right at the borderline? That's where I'm gonna wait for you." "What we gonna have: dessert or disaster?" "If I don't say this now, I will surely break. [...] I'll look after you." "Why does love always feel like a battlefield? Guess you better go and get your armor." "Tell your boyfriend, if he says he's got beef, that I'm a vegetarian and I ain't fucking scared of him." "You try making me wait, but it feels all right as long as something's happening."
*"Dynamite," Taio Cruz; "Lovestoned," Justin Timberlake; "Monster," Lady Gaga; "Helter Skelter," The Beatles; "Please Don't Leave Me," P!nk; "London Calling," The Clash; "Supermassive Black Hole," Muse; "Like A Prayer," Madonna; "Fireflies," Owl City; "Meet Me Halfway," Black Eyed Peas; "Knock You Down," Keri Hilson; "Look After You," The Fray; "Battlefield," Jordin Sparks; "Don't Trust Me," 3OH!3; "Tribulations," LCD Soundsystem
Thursday, September 9, 2010
An Open Letter to Joseph Gordon-Levitt
Dear Mr. Gordon-Levitt,
First of all, congratulations. My facebook newsfeed exploded today with you performing "Bad Romance," and I'm pretty sure you single-handedly gained some new readers for Jezebel. So that's good. I'm also fairly confident that between you and Mad Men, men's suits are experiencing a renaissance. Not only that, but you're an actor it's okay to respect. In short, you've been popping up all over my radar ever since Inception came out, and that's not a bad thing.
Down to business. I'm writing to thank you for allowing me to cross an item off my summer to-do list on the very last night of summer. I started out the summer with a host of things to do, some more realistic than others, and one was to rid myself of a cumbersome crush on a former high school classmate. This was one of those crushes that had long outstayed its welcome, that would die down only to flare up again at the strangest moments, that would live off offhand comments and glances and, in general, leave the friendship feeling woozy.
Then I saw Inception. Somewhere between flirting with Tom Hardy and flying around a rotating hallway on invisible strings, you got me. It was subtle, though--I walked away from the theater praising the movie and complimenting your fitted suits, but not gushing--and it wasn't until I sat down a couple weeks later and, over the course of three days, watched Mysterious Skin, 500 Days of Summer, and Brick that I realized this might not be like my appreciation for Patricia Clarkson and everything she does, but rather more like the way I feel when Colin Firth, wearing wet clothes, runs into Jennifer Ehle in a bonnet.
Let's be real. You're the perfect guy for me right now, especially if you stand right there and don't move any closer. The beauty of my crush on you (and that's completely what it is--I'm not going to even pretend it's not--even though I've never really had a crush on someone I've never met before, Colin Firth notwithstanding) is that I don't have to deal with glimmers of hope. You don't know me, you'll never meet me, you'll never accidentally lead me on over tea. So I can just lust away in peace and enjoy the fun parts of having a crush.
This is running the risk of becoming a This I Believe essay. Why not? I believe in the power of an unreasonable crush to restore order, balance, and good humor, and to clear the way for future, realistic, and requited prospects. Plus you can't slap a poster of an acquaintance on a dorm room wall. So thank you, Joseph, you've made my summer productive and my heart a little lighter.
Best,
Nom de Plume
P.S. That photoshoot with Claudia Schiffer? I think I need to form a support network with Liam Neeson's character from Love Actually after seeing that. Whew.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
This is the best and most important thing I heard all summer. "It's like designing a dress while you're still wearing it."
Lillie Love and Anthony Knight
Lillie Love and Anthony Knight
Monday, August 23, 2010
Reading
--swashbucklers, detectives, sidekicks, spies, antiheroes, the French, the British, the Irish, soldiers, orphans, neighbors, heart-breakers, alcoholics, the Lost Generation, politics, movies, students, mediums, policemen, hippies, unrequited love, ambiguity, good fathers, good friends, the West, pirates, food, families.
--fiction, nonfiction, plays, journals, blogs, newspapers, magazines, Facebook, billboards, post-it notes, messages, open books, closed books, textbooks, hefty tomes, the very long, the very heavy, the very short, the very light, rants, lists, lists, lists, series, rankings, recaps, summaries, parodies, dust jackets, DVD covers, roadsigns, recipes, warning labels.
--to educate, enlighten, entertain, escape.
Writing
--prose writing, essay writing, play writing, screenwriting, blogging, long winded e-mails, formats of the future.
--historical fiction, literary fiction, fan fiction (in the abstract), young adult fiction, HBO series, serials in general, detective fiction, straight plays, documentary theater.
--for profit, for pleasure, for accolades, to expose people to new possibilities, to work out answers, to ask questions, to figure out life, to make lists.
--strong smart women and the men who love them, partners on equal footing, real life fictionalized, priests, gays, Cyrano de Bergerac, readers, wall flowers, Adventure Girls, inhabitants of the drawing room, foreigners, old folks, Mabel, myself.
--swashbucklers, detectives, sidekicks, spies, antiheroes, the French, the British, the Irish, soldiers, orphans, neighbors, heart-breakers, alcoholics, the Lost Generation, politics, movies, students, mediums, policemen, hippies, unrequited love, ambiguity, good fathers, good friends, the West, pirates, food, families.
--fiction, nonfiction, plays, journals, blogs, newspapers, magazines, Facebook, billboards, post-it notes, messages, open books, closed books, textbooks, hefty tomes, the very long, the very heavy, the very short, the very light, rants, lists, lists, lists, series, rankings, recaps, summaries, parodies, dust jackets, DVD covers, roadsigns, recipes, warning labels.
--to educate, enlighten, entertain, escape.
Writing
--prose writing, essay writing, play writing, screenwriting, blogging, long winded e-mails, formats of the future.
--historical fiction, literary fiction, fan fiction (in the abstract), young adult fiction, HBO series, serials in general, detective fiction, straight plays, documentary theater.
--for profit, for pleasure, for accolades, to expose people to new possibilities, to work out answers, to ask questions, to figure out life, to make lists.
--strong smart women and the men who love them, partners on equal footing, real life fictionalized, priests, gays, Cyrano de Bergerac, readers, wall flowers, Adventure Girls, inhabitants of the drawing room, foreigners, old folks, Mabel, myself.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Roommate J and I have been exchanging page-long e-mails since the summer began. At first they were just updates, funny observations, movie recommendations. Lately they've bounded into the realm of advice, council, and hard-hitting questions about life the universe and everything. If someone asks you a question in person, you blurt out the first thing you think of. This is why oral historians and journalists like to interview people in person. There's definitely value in recording a gut reaction, but, I gotta say, I think Roommate J and I have made more progress on looking at our lives, and where we're going from here, answering each others' written questions and writing responses than a whole year of thinking would yield.
There's something about going back over the e-mails, finding pieces of advice I've given her and what I've written in response to her oft-written question, "What are you doing next?" that frees me up to put together these pieces of text in something resembling a plan.
I started the summer a little lost. (Not Six Feet Under lost, but de Plume lost.) I haven't answered all the questions I drove away from my junior year at Princeton with--nor have I put all my thoughts down in those e-mails--but I've come out the other end of our exchange (which is about to be put on hiatus as Roommate J goes off to visit China and see the mountain of all mountains with her family) with a bit more of a sense of what's important to me, what's worth fighting for, and what's worth leaving behind as I move forward in my life.
I've never been one to spew thoughts out into the air--even my most Irish family members have a mysterious WASPiness to them--but I've discovered recently that if I start typing in Gmail it can be difficult to stop. And typing leads to ideas and ideas lead to thinking and thinking leads to planning.
It should have been obvious (there have been posts, a lot of posts, on this blog like that), but sometimes even I need to be told twice.
There's something about going back over the e-mails, finding pieces of advice I've given her and what I've written in response to her oft-written question, "What are you doing next?" that frees me up to put together these pieces of text in something resembling a plan.
I started the summer a little lost. (Not Six Feet Under lost, but de Plume lost.) I haven't answered all the questions I drove away from my junior year at Princeton with--nor have I put all my thoughts down in those e-mails--but I've come out the other end of our exchange (which is about to be put on hiatus as Roommate J goes off to visit China and see the mountain of all mountains with her family) with a bit more of a sense of what's important to me, what's worth fighting for, and what's worth leaving behind as I move forward in my life.
I've never been one to spew thoughts out into the air--even my most Irish family members have a mysterious WASPiness to them--but I've discovered recently that if I start typing in Gmail it can be difficult to stop. And typing leads to ideas and ideas lead to thinking and thinking leads to planning.
It should have been obvious (there have been posts, a lot of posts, on this blog like that), but sometimes even I need to be told twice.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
I had a bit of a reading crisis last summer, brought on by reading the third volume of the Raj Quartet and my dad's subsequent comments. It started with me wondering if it was okay for Paul Scott's characters to be racist if the author was critical of them (of course it would be), and expanded into doubt (is he being critical?) and finally questioning (does it matter? the series is good, and it's just one series).
I wrote at the time:
And I did. And it was great. To rectify the situation further, I decided to read some books about India by Indians, to see what was missing from The Raj Quartet. In Colorado, I read A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth, and it was fantastic. Nearly all 1,474 pages of it. If you've got the time and the patience, I highly recommend it.
I wrote at the time:
My reflections about this series and Dad's comments about it (latest one: "these books remind me of Gone With the Wind.") is turning into a full-blown reading crisis. And I can't play what I call the Wagner's Music Card (i.e. the fact that he was an anti-Semite shouldn't keep us from liking his music because none of that comes across when we listen to it) since Paul Scott's prejudices (if they are his prejudices--and this rubs against one of my other reading squicks: assuming the author's voice is the voice you hear most clearly in the novel) come across loud and clear.
But, I tell myself, this series was written during the sixties and seventies. It's a product of its time and of its author. Is one troubling facet enough to throw the entire thing off? If that were true, I would feel guilty for liking Jane Eyre (and loving Mr. Rochester) because of Mr. Rochester's obviously sexist attitudes (which turned me off while reading the obviously-based-on-Jane Eyre Rebecca).
The fact is, everyone's guilty of picking and choosing what they take away from what they read. I love Jane Eyre in spite of its sexism, The Big Sleep in spite of its homophobia, and (apparently) The Raj Quartet in spite of its racism. (And I'm certainly not going to wade into the most controversial picking and choosing people, myself and nearly everyone I know included, do: religious texts written centuries ago.)
Am I okay with this state of affairs? Not by a long shot, and I still have a lot of thinking to do about it. Is that the way it is for now? Yes. Will I finish reading the quartet? You bet.
And I did. And it was great. To rectify the situation further, I decided to read some books about India by Indians, to see what was missing from The Raj Quartet. In Colorado, I read A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth, and it was fantastic. Nearly all 1,474 pages of it. If you've got the time and the patience, I highly recommend it.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Headed out into the wilds of Colorado tomorrow, so I'm finishing up this book thing today. I'm also rejoicing over the Netherlands win yesterday, and hoping for a happy ending for Germany today.
Day 28: A Book That Made You Think Deeply
I gave blood for the first time because of this book. So there you go.
Day 29: Saddest Death
I'm going to go with Professor Lupin and Tonks and the whole cadre of characters who died kind of pointlessly off stage in this one.
Day 30: The Book That Changed Your Life The Most
This made me start writing.
Day 28: A Book That Made You Think Deeply
I gave blood for the first time because of this book. So there you go.
Day 29: Saddest Death
I'm going to go with Professor Lupin and Tonks and the whole cadre of characters who died kind of pointlessly off stage in this one.
Day 30: The Book That Changed Your Life The Most
This made me start writing.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Just got back from fireworks observation part two. Last night we walked the one block to the country club and watched over the fence as they set off their fireworks. Tonight were the town fireworks, which are usually a disappointment compared to the fireworks dreamed up by the struggling but still fairly hoity-toity country club and in the past my parents and I have gone with Subcontinent and her parents to sit with thousands of other people, sweltering and under attack by mosquitos, to listen to martial music and watch these fireworks. When we're in the country at all, that is, and often we're not.
Today was hot and I've been coming down with a cold for about three days, but I must have still wanted to see more fireworks deep down in my heart because before I could fathom why I was getting in touch with StOlafBoy to see if he had plans. Seeing the fireworks on my own terms, in their new location by the community college, I thought, might be a good way to create new memories of the town display.
We had been warned about traffic and parking, and as we drove to the community college we started to see people packed into parking lots with folding chairs between their cars, but StOlafBoy and I were quite crafty and drove way out into the countryside, found a series of house-less streets where they had once planned on building a hospital complex and where StOlafBoy sometimes runs, parked, sprayed on bug spray, and sat down on a blanket to watch the sky and wait. Only about two other groups of people had had the same idea, and they were about 50 yards away in either direction. The highway was several hundred yards away and we could both see the lights and hear the cars, but once the fireworks started (about five minutes after we showed up) it barely registered.
The town fireworks still weren't as good as the country club ones (although minus the martial music, they were improved), but the best thing about the night was that we had an unobstructed 360 degree view of other firework displays (legal and illegal) in the neighboring towns and farms. So we rotated around and around and pointed out particularly good ones to each other. There was a breeze and the temperature was perfect and calming, and the bugs stayed well away. And we could also see the big dipper. And mysterious flashes and intermittent red glowing coming from behind a cluster of trees (alien landing? Iron Giant preparation? more fireworks?). And, most mysteriously of all, an apparently private plane that circled above for the entire thing and disappeared shortly before I said I had to get home (fighting a cold off, remember) around eleven.
It was a great night, largely because this is a guy it would have hurt my heart to spend so much dramatically-lit time around as little as a year ago. Now we can sit and watch fireworks in the darkness and look up at the stars and chat about possible futures like any other pair of friends would. I wouldn't have imagined this for myself sophomore year of high school. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Today was hot and I've been coming down with a cold for about three days, but I must have still wanted to see more fireworks deep down in my heart because before I could fathom why I was getting in touch with StOlafBoy to see if he had plans. Seeing the fireworks on my own terms, in their new location by the community college, I thought, might be a good way to create new memories of the town display.
We had been warned about traffic and parking, and as we drove to the community college we started to see people packed into parking lots with folding chairs between their cars, but StOlafBoy and I were quite crafty and drove way out into the countryside, found a series of house-less streets where they had once planned on building a hospital complex and where StOlafBoy sometimes runs, parked, sprayed on bug spray, and sat down on a blanket to watch the sky and wait. Only about two other groups of people had had the same idea, and they were about 50 yards away in either direction. The highway was several hundred yards away and we could both see the lights and hear the cars, but once the fireworks started (about five minutes after we showed up) it barely registered.
The town fireworks still weren't as good as the country club ones (although minus the martial music, they were improved), but the best thing about the night was that we had an unobstructed 360 degree view of other firework displays (legal and illegal) in the neighboring towns and farms. So we rotated around and around and pointed out particularly good ones to each other. There was a breeze and the temperature was perfect and calming, and the bugs stayed well away. And we could also see the big dipper. And mysterious flashes and intermittent red glowing coming from behind a cluster of trees (alien landing? Iron Giant preparation? more fireworks?). And, most mysteriously of all, an apparently private plane that circled above for the entire thing and disappeared shortly before I said I had to get home (fighting a cold off, remember) around eleven.
It was a great night, largely because this is a guy it would have hurt my heart to spend so much dramatically-lit time around as little as a year ago. Now we can sit and watch fireworks in the darkness and look up at the stars and chat about possible futures like any other pair of friends would. I wouldn't have imagined this for myself sophomore year of high school. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Last night was Mom's revolution-themed birthday party. We had about 25 people in our back yard, chatting and listening to Motown from five until midnight. It was a great group and the food (and cake!) were delicious, but the best part for me was an impromptu, unexpected, belated gift.
Apparently my French godfathers gave me a condom when I was three or four, seeing it as their godfatherly duty to keep me safe in the Frenchest way possible. My dad put it away for safekeeping. This story came out over the course of the evening (we talk about condoms over dinner at our house...what do you talk about?) and Dad suddenly leaped up from the table, rushed into the house, and emerged about three minutes later with this:
So yeah. Not having gotten to know my godfathers as an adult is one of the things I regret most, so suddenly learning a new story (when I thought I had heard all the stories) and sitting there in my back yard with something in my hand proving the story was true meant a lot.
Day 26: Most Despicable Character
I thought this one would be hard. It's actually quite easy.
Ronald Merrick is the biggest sleaze ever (despite his unfortunate self-hate and missing arm, I only felt about three seconds of sympathy for him over the many, many hours I spent reading this (excellent!) four-book series.
Apparently my French godfathers gave me a condom when I was three or four, seeing it as their godfatherly duty to keep me safe in the Frenchest way possible. My dad put it away for safekeeping. This story came out over the course of the evening (we talk about condoms over dinner at our house...what do you talk about?) and Dad suddenly leaped up from the table, rushed into the house, and emerged about three minutes later with this:
So yeah. Not having gotten to know my godfathers as an adult is one of the things I regret most, so suddenly learning a new story (when I thought I had heard all the stories) and sitting there in my back yard with something in my hand proving the story was true meant a lot.
Day 26: Most Despicable Character
I thought this one would be hard. It's actually quite easy.
Ronald Merrick is the biggest sleaze ever (despite his unfortunate self-hate and missing arm, I only felt about three seconds of sympathy for him over the many, many hours I spent reading this (excellent!) four-book series.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Friday, July 2, 2010
Day 24: Favorite Author
Real answer: Dorothy Dunnett, or John Banville, but I've used them way too much already, so let's look elsewhere.
Raymond Chandler. Allow me to explain. This is the guy who kicked off my love of noir, and it was because his writing was far from dry, or even spare. Philip Marlowe, as it turns out, is a tough guy, but he's also very sensitive, and his motives aren't always clear. He makes Sam Spade look like a not-too-interesting cartoon cutout.
Here are some choice Philip Marlowe quotes (from the LA Times Magazine):
Tell me that's not awesome.
Real answer: Dorothy Dunnett, or John Banville, but I've used them way too much already, so let's look elsewhere.
Raymond Chandler. Allow me to explain. This is the guy who kicked off my love of noir, and it was because his writing was far from dry, or even spare. Philip Marlowe, as it turns out, is a tough guy, but he's also very sensitive, and his motives aren't always clear. He makes Sam Spade look like a not-too-interesting cartoon cutout.
Here are some choice Philip Marlowe quotes (from the LA Times Magazine):
"I like smooth shiny girls, hardboiled and loaded with sin."
"It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass window."
"The minutes went by on tiptoe, with their fingers on their lips."
"I don't mind your ritzing me or drinking your lunch out of a Scotch bottle. I don't mind your showing me your legs. They're very swell legs and it's a pleasure to make their acquaintance. I don't mind if you don't like my manners. They're pretty bad. I grieve over them on long winter evenings."
Tell me that's not awesome.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Tomorrow we get up really, really early to head home. It's been fun here at the beach, and I managed not to get sunburned a single time, or pooped on by a seagull (pending our final Ocean City visit tonight to see Aunt L and The Street). That's victory for you.
Also, Viking Golf last night yielded a 3-way tie with 47 points each, a visit to Eric the Red and Thor, and two hole-in-ones for yours truly.
Day 23: Most Surprising Twist
I had to get this book on this list somehow. There is no plot twist per se, but rather a slowly dawning realization that the narrator is not as reliable as he first seemed. And that's always good.
Also, Viking Golf last night yielded a 3-way tie with 47 points each, a visit to Eric the Red and Thor, and two hole-in-ones for yours truly.
Day 23: Most Surprising Twist
I had to get this book on this list somehow. There is no plot twist per se, but rather a slowly dawning realization that the narrator is not as reliable as he first seemed. And that's always good.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Day 22: [A] Favorite Ending
It's a fact proven by anecdote that I rarely want books to end. So there aren't many endings I like. This is one, and it was an ending for me, since I didn't go on to read the rest of the series (except Anne's House of Dreams, but I can barely remember what happened in that one).
It's a fact proven by anecdote that I rarely want books to end. So there aren't many endings I like. This is one, and it was an ending for me, since I didn't go on to read the rest of the series (except Anne's House of Dreams, but I can barely remember what happened in that one).
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Day 21: Favorite Ship(For those readers out of the loop, this means favorite romantic pairing.)
Thinking about this prompt, I came up with three instant reactions: Francis Crawford of Lymond and Philippa Somerville from the Lymond Chronicles, Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester from...Jane Eyre, and Percy and Marguerite Blakeney from The Scarlet Pimpernel. Then I thought to myself, huh, these couples all have one thing in common: the man totally lies to the woman for an extended period of time because he thinks it'll make life easier (for him, and/or for her). What is that all about? Doesn't mean I like these characters or their relationships any less, but it did bother me a little.
So I'm taking a different route and going with Stephen Maturin and Diana Villiers from the Aubrey/Maturin series. They're both awesome, and for most of the time she's the one stringing him along.
Also, funnily enough, this relationship takes place, in part, on an actual ship. So that's nice.
Thinking about this prompt, I came up with three instant reactions: Francis Crawford of Lymond and Philippa Somerville from the Lymond Chronicles, Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester from...Jane Eyre, and Percy and Marguerite Blakeney from The Scarlet Pimpernel. Then I thought to myself, huh, these couples all have one thing in common: the man totally lies to the woman for an extended period of time because he thinks it'll make life easier (for him, and/or for her). What is that all about? Doesn't mean I like these characters or their relationships any less, but it did bother me a little.
So I'm taking a different route and going with Stephen Maturin and Diana Villiers from the Aubrey/Maturin series. They're both awesome, and for most of the time she's the one stringing him along.
Also, funnily enough, this relationship takes place, in part, on an actual ship. So that's nice.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Down at the beach, watching the Netherlands play Slovakia, I'm left missing Edgar Davids.
I always rooted for the French in past World Cups, but Davids was a fun player to watch. He had pizazz, an awesome head of hair, and a more lasting commitment to sunglasses than Jack Nicholson.
Anyway:
Day 19: Favorite Set of Characters
Such great friendships between such different people. And it went on and on and on. Who could ask for anything more?
Day 20: Favorite Kiss
Fred and Sally decide they don't hate each other, and kiss in the kitchen. Wow. And later heartbreaking (see May 8, 2008).
I always rooted for the French in past World Cups, but Davids was a fun player to watch. He had pizazz, an awesome head of hair, and a more lasting commitment to sunglasses than Jack Nicholson.
Anyway:
Day 19: Favorite Set of Characters
Such great friendships between such different people. And it went on and on and on. Who could ask for anything more?
Day 20: Favorite Kiss
Fred and Sally decide they don't hate each other, and kiss in the kitchen. Wow. And later heartbreaking (see May 8, 2008).
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Time to play catchup! I've been in transit for a while, fighting tornadoes in Chicago (I was there for this, on the 22nd floor of a hotel that started on the 15th floor) and crazy drivers in West Virginia (it was the full moon).
Highlights included: eating Ann Sathers cinnamon rolls, watching the US 91st minute victory with random Chicagoans, people watching in the Palmer House lobby, and eating mussels and french fries with aioli and drinking(!) Anchor Steam at the Hopleaf, listening to the Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy radio play in the car the next day as we drove to Baltimore, getting the Aged Ps hooked on Lady Gaga.
Today we went to the Walters Art Museum, bought tickets to the Orioles game tomorrow, drove up to Federal Hill and had slurpees and walked around, and finally returned to prepare (i.e. change into our crab-matching clothes and, in my case, make an ill-advised attempt at nail-painting) for the Great Crab Massacre June 2010. This involved the entire clan heading to Schultz's where we were joined by Fr. J, Uncle D, and Cousin R (aka The Street!) who I hadn't seen in way too long.
The quote of the night occurred when we needed someone to take a picture of the entire (seventeen person) table. The waitress appeared. The Street said, "You're Midwestern. You ask."
More catchup:
Day 15: Favorite Female Character
Dido Twite rocks so hard. She's who I want to be when I grow up. (This is hindered somewhat by the fact that I'm older than she ever gets in the Wolves Chronicles.)
Day 16: Your Guilty Pleasure Book
I like a lot of books, and some of them are less literary than others. This is what I'm reading right now. There are pirates in it. I offer no further excuses.
Day 17: Favorite Short Story
Colum McCann's short story "Breakfast for Enrique" (which appears in his book of short stories Fishing the Sloe Black River) is everything I want my short stories to be: narrative, beautiful, with fully developed characters and heartbreaking brevity. It also has a larger message or two, but they take some digging to find (i.e. are not hammering you over the head as you read). Also it's narrated by an Irishman in San Francisco, so it was practically written for me.
Highlights included: eating Ann Sathers cinnamon rolls, watching the US 91st minute victory with random Chicagoans, people watching in the Palmer House lobby, and eating mussels and french fries with aioli and drinking(!) Anchor Steam at the Hopleaf, listening to the Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy radio play in the car the next day as we drove to Baltimore, getting the Aged Ps hooked on Lady Gaga.
Today we went to the Walters Art Museum, bought tickets to the Orioles game tomorrow, drove up to Federal Hill and had slurpees and walked around, and finally returned to prepare (i.e. change into our crab-matching clothes and, in my case, make an ill-advised attempt at nail-painting) for the Great Crab Massacre June 2010. This involved the entire clan heading to Schultz's where we were joined by Fr. J, Uncle D, and Cousin R (aka The Street!) who I hadn't seen in way too long.
The quote of the night occurred when we needed someone to take a picture of the entire (seventeen person) table. The waitress appeared. The Street said, "You're Midwestern. You ask."
More catchup:
Day 15: Favorite Female Character
Dido Twite rocks so hard. She's who I want to be when I grow up. (This is hindered somewhat by the fact that I'm older than she ever gets in the Wolves Chronicles.)
Day 16: Your Guilty Pleasure Book
I like a lot of books, and some of them are less literary than others. This is what I'm reading right now. There are pirates in it. I offer no further excuses.
Day 17: Favorite Short Story
Colum McCann's short story "Breakfast for Enrique" (which appears in his book of short stories Fishing the Sloe Black River) is everything I want my short stories to be: narrative, beautiful, with fully developed characters and heartbreaking brevity. It also has a larger message or two, but they take some digging to find (i.e. are not hammering you over the head as you read). Also it's narrated by an Irishman in San Francisco, so it was practically written for me.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Day 14: Favorite Male Character
Oh Lord, this one's tough. I think it's true of most people that there are some characters they wish were real so they could date them, or have deep discussions over dinner or something. I have a lot of male characters who would fit that bill. But I have to go with Francis Crawford of Lymond on this one.
Here's the first glimpse we get of him in The Game of Kings, the first book in Dorothy Dunnett's six-book Lymond Chronicles:
Oh Lord, this one's tough. I think it's true of most people that there are some characters they wish were real so they could date them, or have deep discussions over dinner or something. I have a lot of male characters who would fit that bill. But I have to go with Francis Crawford of Lymond on this one.
Here's the first glimpse we get of him in The Game of Kings, the first book in Dorothy Dunnett's six-book Lymond Chronicles:
"I," said Lymond, in a voice unmistakably his which honeyed his most lethal thoughts, "I am a narwhal looking for my virgin. I have sucked up the sea like Charybdis and failing other entertainment will spew it three times daily, for a fee. Tell me again, precisely, what you have just said about Mungo Tennant."
They told him, and received their orders, and then he left, pausing on the threshold to pin the dark cloak about his chin. "Shy," said Lymond with simplicity, "as a dogtooth violet." And he was gone.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Day 13: Favorite Childhood Book
This was the beginning of a lot of things: my Dickens reading (the result of a correspondence with Joan Aiken, the author, who told me my favorite character was based on a Dickens character but wouldn't tell me which one), my own interest in writing, puberty (suddenly the lead male character was interesting for a lot of reasons)...
This was the beginning of a lot of things: my Dickens reading (the result of a correspondence with Joan Aiken, the author, who told me my favorite character was based on a Dickens character but wouldn't tell me which one), my own interest in writing, puberty (suddenly the lead male character was interesting for a lot of reasons)...
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Happy Fathers' Day! I, for one, am very lucky that my dad is my dad, seeing to it that my life is made up of all the good things: Harold Stories, ice cream crawls, the bus game, Babe Witch and Boog, Baltimore TV show binges, and much more. So far today we've watched the awesome Italy/New Zealand game, gone food shopping, and baked a cake. Next on the horizon: Brazil v. Côte d'Ivoire at the Union, and then dinner at the Esquire and finishing up Band of Brothers.
Day 12: A Book That Disappointed You
I wasn't as wowed as I thought I would be, and although there were parts that I identified with, for the most part I was left with a resounding "meh."
Day 12: A Book That Disappointed You
I wasn't as wowed as I thought I would be, and although there were parts that I identified with, for the most part I was left with a resounding "meh."
Saturday, June 19, 2010
May as well start with prison tutoring.
On the one hand, you're a piece of meat. I mean, you know that when you sign up for it, if you're female and young, you're signing up for getting stared at. In the world outside the prison, people noticing you follows several stages, starting at indifference and moving up through perception to interest and sometimes on to staring and talking and in very rare cases to whistling or lewd comments. In prison, the first few stages are either cut out or there's some special supplement they put in the food that gives the inmates the magical power to go from zero to sixty in under a second and run through indifference, perception, and interest in the time it takes me to register their presence in the hallway or the classroom.
Staring is the norm, as was made abundantly clear to me on my first day, when the education director took Fellow Tutor A and I on a tour of our classrooms and every head in the place snapped in our direction when she opened the door to let us meet the teachers. "They're young and they're horny," she told us with a fairly thick Jersey accent (she's awesome), "and if the wall were a woman they would stare at that."
It wasn't as if I wasn't expecting all of this. I may not have watched Oz (and I don't plan to until I'm done with this gig), but I know about prison logistics and I know about guys in their late teens and early twenties and I'm not an idiot.
Even when it was fairly obvious to me on that first day of orientation that there were guys in the corner whispering about Fellow Tutor A and I in Spanish, I didn't mind that much. In the real world, I wouldn't put up with that kind of thing, but prison, I told myself (and I still believe) is an already imperfect system and you have to take it as it comes and choose your battles wisely.
The battle I eventually chose was the Great Definitions Battle of April 2010.
Most of the time I spent tutoring, I tutored math. The teacher likes math, the inmates like math, and even though I usually hate it more than any other subject (except maybe chemistry--and that only because I'm counting physics as glorified math), I found myself liking math too because it's easier to teach students who like a subject than students who are barely putting in the effort. Grammar, I found, was not a fun subject to teach, and if I thought about it in terms of French I could definitely identify. How do you tell people who have been communicating perfectly well for over fifteen years that they're doing it wrong? Obviously as an English major I want people to be able to use the English language in ways that highlight its beauty and complexity, but that's in the real world.
But, then again, these classes are all about the real world. One of the subjects the teacher spent time on was Career Education, after all, and Career Education is focused on what the students could possibly do once they've been released. The grammar and the math (as much as it pains me to say it), those are for the real world too, as well as for their advancement within the prison school system.
So grammar is complicated. It's hard for the prisoners and it's hard for me to reconcile my sympathy for them with my love of the language, with my separation of the prison system from the real world, with my growing realization that teaching prisoners is more important, more of a last-ditch attempt, than teaching almost any other group of people in the country.
But I digress. Back to the Great Definitions Battle of April 2010.
I had determined that math was easy to teach, but I was still excited when they started doing spelling. Vocab! That was something I had always been interested in. So I sat expectantly in my corner, waiting for someone to break the ice and raise his hand and ask for help. Pretty soon, the guy sitting closest to me looked up from his dictionary and said, "I don't get this."
Spelling is really great, from a tutor's point of view, because the students are asked to use sixteen words in a sentence and sometimes they don't understand the definitions, and that's where you come in. So I slid over expectantly.
He passed me the dictionary and pointed to the word "boycott." The definition was pretty convoluted, so I said, "Okay, boycott. Well, it's like the bus boycotts during the Civil Rights Movement. When people stopped riding the bus."
He stared at me like I had a hole in my head.
Until then, my tutoring had taken the form of helping them get through the worksheet, making sure they understood enough to do well in the class. When this guy made it clear to me that he didn't know about the bus boycotts, I launched into a whole, wholly unrelated to spelling, explanation. (During this explanation, I found myself hovering over whether to say "black" or "African American" in this context, to...an African American man, but that's another story, for another very long post.) I didn't care whether he knew how to spell boycott or not, I just wanted him to know what a boycott was and why it was important to the history of the country.
This was my last day of tutoring for the semester, and until that moment I hadn't hit my stride. Listening to Roommate J talking about her experiences tutoring, I was sure I was doing something wrong, not making enough of an effort to get to know my students (although I had at least ten more than her, so that wasn't a very logical worry), not circulating enough, something. Explaining boycott, though, I knew I was doing something right. The student was listening, nodding, understanding what the word meant. And I wasn't shy (something I spend enough time fighting in the outside world), or nervous, or unsure I was being taken seriously. I chose the right battle and there I was, discovering the right tone to take as a tutor for inmates. Until then, I wasn't sure I would tutor again the following semester. Now I know that I will.
I'm still a piece of meat, though, even in my regulation, over-sized, bright yellow volunteer t-shirt.
The guy I explained "boycott" to was the guy who had complimented me on my shoes the week before--"Nice chucks."--and who was a frequent starer. Yes, I picked my battles, and yes, I said the staring didn't really phase me at first. After a while, though, it began to. Roommate J, when I mentioned this to her, didn't feel the same way, hadn't had the same experiences. I didn't object to being viewed sexually per se--that, like I said, I had totally expected and accepted--but it began to wear on me, week after week, to be seen as just one thing: just what I look like, that hot chick who comes in Monday mornings and helps out in Ms. T's room and sometimes scoots over close to help with math problems (oh, and she has nice chucks), and all the assumptions that come with it. It feels like you're being taken advantage of, and that's never good.
I guess it's appropriate that I was in prison when I came to the conclusion that the most dispiriting, horrible feeling is being looked at like you're not a person. This happens to prisoners all the time, after all, both in prison and in "the real world."
So it's a learning experience. Duh. That's why everyone's there. Fellow Tutor A might be there purely out of the goodness of her heart (she's that kind of person), but I'm there because I wanted to learn more, and lend a hand while I was at it.
Both those goals have been met, in ways I couldn't possibly have predicted in January, and this time next year I'll probably know even more about life, inside and out.
On the one hand, you're a piece of meat. I mean, you know that when you sign up for it, if you're female and young, you're signing up for getting stared at. In the world outside the prison, people noticing you follows several stages, starting at indifference and moving up through perception to interest and sometimes on to staring and talking and in very rare cases to whistling or lewd comments. In prison, the first few stages are either cut out or there's some special supplement they put in the food that gives the inmates the magical power to go from zero to sixty in under a second and run through indifference, perception, and interest in the time it takes me to register their presence in the hallway or the classroom.
Staring is the norm, as was made abundantly clear to me on my first day, when the education director took Fellow Tutor A and I on a tour of our classrooms and every head in the place snapped in our direction when she opened the door to let us meet the teachers. "They're young and they're horny," she told us with a fairly thick Jersey accent (she's awesome), "and if the wall were a woman they would stare at that."
It wasn't as if I wasn't expecting all of this. I may not have watched Oz (and I don't plan to until I'm done with this gig), but I know about prison logistics and I know about guys in their late teens and early twenties and I'm not an idiot.
Even when it was fairly obvious to me on that first day of orientation that there were guys in the corner whispering about Fellow Tutor A and I in Spanish, I didn't mind that much. In the real world, I wouldn't put up with that kind of thing, but prison, I told myself (and I still believe) is an already imperfect system and you have to take it as it comes and choose your battles wisely.
The battle I eventually chose was the Great Definitions Battle of April 2010.
Most of the time I spent tutoring, I tutored math. The teacher likes math, the inmates like math, and even though I usually hate it more than any other subject (except maybe chemistry--and that only because I'm counting physics as glorified math), I found myself liking math too because it's easier to teach students who like a subject than students who are barely putting in the effort. Grammar, I found, was not a fun subject to teach, and if I thought about it in terms of French I could definitely identify. How do you tell people who have been communicating perfectly well for over fifteen years that they're doing it wrong? Obviously as an English major I want people to be able to use the English language in ways that highlight its beauty and complexity, but that's in the real world.
But, then again, these classes are all about the real world. One of the subjects the teacher spent time on was Career Education, after all, and Career Education is focused on what the students could possibly do once they've been released. The grammar and the math (as much as it pains me to say it), those are for the real world too, as well as for their advancement within the prison school system.
So grammar is complicated. It's hard for the prisoners and it's hard for me to reconcile my sympathy for them with my love of the language, with my separation of the prison system from the real world, with my growing realization that teaching prisoners is more important, more of a last-ditch attempt, than teaching almost any other group of people in the country.
But I digress. Back to the Great Definitions Battle of April 2010.
I had determined that math was easy to teach, but I was still excited when they started doing spelling. Vocab! That was something I had always been interested in. So I sat expectantly in my corner, waiting for someone to break the ice and raise his hand and ask for help. Pretty soon, the guy sitting closest to me looked up from his dictionary and said, "I don't get this."
Spelling is really great, from a tutor's point of view, because the students are asked to use sixteen words in a sentence and sometimes they don't understand the definitions, and that's where you come in. So I slid over expectantly.
He passed me the dictionary and pointed to the word "boycott." The definition was pretty convoluted, so I said, "Okay, boycott. Well, it's like the bus boycotts during the Civil Rights Movement. When people stopped riding the bus."
He stared at me like I had a hole in my head.
Until then, my tutoring had taken the form of helping them get through the worksheet, making sure they understood enough to do well in the class. When this guy made it clear to me that he didn't know about the bus boycotts, I launched into a whole, wholly unrelated to spelling, explanation. (During this explanation, I found myself hovering over whether to say "black" or "African American" in this context, to...an African American man, but that's another story, for another very long post.) I didn't care whether he knew how to spell boycott or not, I just wanted him to know what a boycott was and why it was important to the history of the country.
This was my last day of tutoring for the semester, and until that moment I hadn't hit my stride. Listening to Roommate J talking about her experiences tutoring, I was sure I was doing something wrong, not making enough of an effort to get to know my students (although I had at least ten more than her, so that wasn't a very logical worry), not circulating enough, something. Explaining boycott, though, I knew I was doing something right. The student was listening, nodding, understanding what the word meant. And I wasn't shy (something I spend enough time fighting in the outside world), or nervous, or unsure I was being taken seriously. I chose the right battle and there I was, discovering the right tone to take as a tutor for inmates. Until then, I wasn't sure I would tutor again the following semester. Now I know that I will.
I'm still a piece of meat, though, even in my regulation, over-sized, bright yellow volunteer t-shirt.
The guy I explained "boycott" to was the guy who had complimented me on my shoes the week before--"Nice chucks."--and who was a frequent starer. Yes, I picked my battles, and yes, I said the staring didn't really phase me at first. After a while, though, it began to. Roommate J, when I mentioned this to her, didn't feel the same way, hadn't had the same experiences. I didn't object to being viewed sexually per se--that, like I said, I had totally expected and accepted--but it began to wear on me, week after week, to be seen as just one thing: just what I look like, that hot chick who comes in Monday mornings and helps out in Ms. T's room and sometimes scoots over close to help with math problems (oh, and she has nice chucks), and all the assumptions that come with it. It feels like you're being taken advantage of, and that's never good.
I guess it's appropriate that I was in prison when I came to the conclusion that the most dispiriting, horrible feeling is being looked at like you're not a person. This happens to prisoners all the time, after all, both in prison and in "the real world."
So it's a learning experience. Duh. That's why everyone's there. Fellow Tutor A might be there purely out of the goodness of her heart (she's that kind of person), but I'm there because I wanted to learn more, and lend a hand while I was at it.
Both those goals have been met, in ways I couldn't possibly have predicted in January, and this time next year I'll probably know even more about life, inside and out.
Day 11: A Book You’ve Read More Than Five Times
When I was living in France in fourth grade, I brought this book with me and read it eight times: once on the plane, six times in Paris, and once on the plane coming back. Sometimes what you need to calm yourself down is a good mystery and a cast of thousands.
When I was living in France in fourth grade, I brought this book with me and read it eight times: once on the plane, six times in Paris, and once on the plane coming back. Sometimes what you need to calm yourself down is a good mystery and a cast of thousands.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Last night I had a great picnic and minigolf outing with CornellBoy, StOlafBoy, BrandeisGirl, and Redhead. I won, which was especially great considering the competition, and then we did something truly Midwestern. Like, almost verging on country bumpkin. We went to Wal-Mart, bought a six pack of Klondike bars, and then sat in the parking lot eating them and chatting. 21 years later, I have really and truly arrived.
Day 09: Best Scene in Any Book
There are waaaay too many to choose from in this book, but I'm going with Stephen watching over Dil's funeral pyre. That really got to me, in a book filled to the brim with great Stephen scenes.
Day 09: Best Scene in Any Book
There are waaaay too many to choose from in this book, but I'm going with Stephen watching over Dil's funeral pyre. That really got to me, in a book filled to the brim with great Stephen scenes.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
First of all (and unrelated to what follows), Roommate J gets a shout-out for not only liking the concept of these book and movie lists, but almost-daily fueling my insanity by going along with my Homicide obsession. So she rocks, for those and other reasons.
Also unrelated: I just got back from celebrating the Aged Ps' 36th wedding anniversary. We went to The Bar, where I ordered a Midori sour to start and then switched to water as part of my role as Pathologically Responsible Kid/Designated Driver until crazy Irish bartender handed me a glass of dessert wine. Now, we all know that I am endeavoring to like grownup drinks, and at the moment dessert wine seems like the best route. This particular one tasted like liquid honey with alcohol in it. Luckily, it came on the heels of a three-course dinner (and I am not the aforementioned Roommate "Three Sips, Three Hour Nap" J), so I was still good to drive home. And to write this. Unless I wake up in the morning and discover the entire thing is in Wingdings, but that would be a disgrace to my Irish/German heritage.
Day 07: Least Favorite Chapter of Favorite Series
Lymond spends too much time doing who the hell knows what in Russia (and is moody) and Philippa spends the novel in a post-harem letdown. Still, even though this book is the low point of the Lymond Chronicles, it is still better than almost anything else. It has lows lows, and, on the flip side, high highs. In fact, it contains what is actually my favorite scene in the entire series, a scene which takes place somewhere called the Hall of the Revels. Hmmm. Now I wonder what I could name after that?
Also unrelated: I just got back from celebrating the Aged Ps' 36th wedding anniversary. We went to The Bar, where I ordered a Midori sour to start and then switched to water as part of my role as Pathologically Responsible Kid/Designated Driver until crazy Irish bartender handed me a glass of dessert wine. Now, we all know that I am endeavoring to like grownup drinks, and at the moment dessert wine seems like the best route. This particular one tasted like liquid honey with alcohol in it. Luckily, it came on the heels of a three-course dinner (and I am not the aforementioned Roommate "Three Sips, Three Hour Nap" J), so I was still good to drive home. And to write this. Unless I wake up in the morning and discover the entire thing is in Wingdings, but that would be a disgrace to my Irish/German heritage.
Day 07: Least Favorite Chapter of Favorite Series
Lymond spends too much time doing who the hell knows what in Russia (and is moody) and Philippa spends the novel in a post-harem letdown. Still, even though this book is the low point of the Lymond Chronicles, it is still better than almost anything else. It has lows lows, and, on the flip side, high highs. In fact, it contains what is actually my favorite scene in the entire series, a scene which takes place somewhere called the Hall of the Revels. Hmmm. Now I wonder what I could name after that?
Monday, June 14, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Day 04: A Book You Hate
Here's the thing. When I buy a book, or check one out from the library, I have usually researched it so much that it's pretty much a forgone conclusion that I'll like it. Similarly, the people who give me book know me well enough to know, at least, what I won't hate.
So that being said, I don't really hate this book, but I read it for class and didn't like it.
The heroine was too perfect. That can really kill it for me.
Here's the thing. When I buy a book, or check one out from the library, I have usually researched it so much that it's pretty much a forgone conclusion that I'll like it. Similarly, the people who give me book know me well enough to know, at least, what I won't hate.
So that being said, I don't really hate this book, but I read it for class and didn't like it.
The heroine was too perfect. That can really kill it for me.
Friday, June 11, 2010
The Aged Ps and I just got back from watching France vs. Uruguay at the Damn Big Midwestern University Union. It was a sluggish but still really tense and entertaining game, I thought, even with its 0-0 finish. Not enough Thierry Henry, though, especially since I wore my jersey.
Tomorrow we're headed back to watch England vs. USA, which will probably be quite lively. I'm not a huge Team USA fan and I don't like Rooney much, so whoever wins I'll probably be thrilled.
The teams I'm predisposed to like: France (obviously), Cameroon, Netherlands, Brazil.
Allez les bleus!
Tomorrow we're headed back to watch England vs. USA, which will probably be quite lively. I'm not a huge Team USA fan and I don't like Rooney much, so whoever wins I'll probably be thrilled.
The teams I'm predisposed to like: France (obviously), Cameroon, Netherlands, Brazil.
Allez les bleus!
Thursday, June 10, 2010
This past Sunday was The Annual de Plumes Reading and Movie Day.
The only rules are that:
1) As soon as you wake up you start reading.
2) As soon as someone wants to watch a movie, they say so, and everyone drops what they're reading and joins them.
3) Once the movie is over you go back to reading.
4) Dinner happens in front of a movie.
5) Around ten, parents get tired, so the day is officially over.
This year I stationed myself in the hammock in our backyard. The weather was perfect. It still is. I predict that a lot of this summer will be spent on the back porch.
The only rules are that:
1) As soon as you wake up you start reading.
2) As soon as someone wants to watch a movie, they say so, and everyone drops what they're reading and joins them.
3) Once the movie is over you go back to reading.
4) Dinner happens in front of a movie.
5) Around ten, parents get tired, so the day is officially over.
This year I stationed myself in the hammock in our backyard. The weather was perfect. It still is. I predict that a lot of this summer will be spent on the back porch.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Day 01: The Book That You Read Most Recently
Yeah, I gave in. It's been billed by many as a feminist book, and I can see why people would say that, but it also contains some of the nastiest and most graphically described violence against women that I've ever read. So where does that leave you?
Still, I have a completion thing, and will probably read the rest of the series.
Yeah, I gave in. It's been billed by many as a feminist book, and I can see why people would say that, but it also contains some of the nastiest and most graphically described violence against women that I've ever read. So where does that leave you?
Still, I have a completion thing, and will probably read the rest of the series.
Yes. You're in for it again.
Day 01: The Book That You Read Most Recently
Day 02: A Book You Wish More People Would Read
Day 03: Your Favorite New Book (Published 2009-10)
Day 04: A Book You Hate
Day 05: Your Favorite Book, Ever
Day 06: Favorite Chapter of Favorite Series
Day 07: Least Favorite Chapter of Favorite Series
Day 08: A Book Everyone Should Read
Day 09: Best Scene in Any Book
Day 10: A Book You Thought You Wouldn’t Like, But Did
Day 11: A Book You’ve Read More Than Five Times
Day 12: A Book That Disappointed You
Day 13: Favorite Childhood Book
Day 14: Favorite Male Character
Day 15: Favorite Female Character
Day 16: Your Guilty Pleasure Book
Day 17: Favorite Short Story
Day 18: Favorite Prologue
Day 19: Favorite Set of Characters
Day 20: Favorite Kiss
Day 21: Favorite Ship
Day 22: Favorite Ending
Day 23: Most Surprising Twist
Day 24: Favorite Author
Day 25: A Book You Intend To Read
Day 26: Most Despicable Character
Day 27: First Book Obsession
Day 28: A Book That Made You Think Deeply
Day 29: Saddest Death
Day 30: The Book That Changed Your Life The Most
Day 01: The Book That You Read Most Recently
Day 02: A Book You Wish More People Would Read
Day 03: Your Favorite New Book (Published 2009-10)
Day 04: A Book You Hate
Day 05: Your Favorite Book, Ever
Day 06: Favorite Chapter of Favorite Series
Day 07: Least Favorite Chapter of Favorite Series
Day 08: A Book Everyone Should Read
Day 09: Best Scene in Any Book
Day 10: A Book You Thought You Wouldn’t Like, But Did
Day 11: A Book You’ve Read More Than Five Times
Day 12: A Book That Disappointed You
Day 13: Favorite Childhood Book
Day 14: Favorite Male Character
Day 15: Favorite Female Character
Day 16: Your Guilty Pleasure Book
Day 17: Favorite Short Story
Day 18: Favorite Prologue
Day 19: Favorite Set of Characters
Day 20: Favorite Kiss
Day 21: Favorite Ship
Day 22: Favorite Ending
Day 23: Most Surprising Twist
Day 24: Favorite Author
Day 25: A Book You Intend To Read
Day 26: Most Despicable Character
Day 27: First Book Obsession
Day 28: A Book That Made You Think Deeply
Day 29: Saddest Death
Day 30: The Book That Changed Your Life The Most
Monday, May 31, 2010
Spending the summer at home is going to be great. It's already been great, and it's barely started. Spending two summers ago in Florida and last summer in Paris...those were also great, but I'm preparing myself for a very productive and fun summer with my favorite people in the world, and there's really no beating that.
Here's the plan so far: 1) edit The Novel, and prepare it for third draft readers, 2) work on my offerings to the summer Creative Writing Forced March Athena and I set up (20 participants, at last check), 3) do edits on The Play, paying special attention to the beginning, 4) play around with my other loose end writing projects (especially the U.N. show), 5) train for Dad's and my epic scaling of Red Elephant (i.e. start running again, which I should have been doing all along), 6) flirt with the idea of studying for the GRE, 7) study for the GRE, 8) continue screening senior thesis-related movies, and taking copious notes, 9) continue reading senior thesis-related books, 10) go on much-anticipated family trips to two very different relaxing locations.
I like this plan.
Here's the plan so far: 1) edit The Novel, and prepare it for third draft readers, 2) work on my offerings to the summer Creative Writing Forced March Athena and I set up (20 participants, at last check), 3) do edits on The Play, paying special attention to the beginning, 4) play around with my other loose end writing projects (especially the U.N. show), 5) train for Dad's and my epic scaling of Red Elephant (i.e. start running again, which I should have been doing all along), 6) flirt with the idea of studying for the GRE, 7) study for the GRE, 8) continue screening senior thesis-related movies, and taking copious notes, 9) continue reading senior thesis-related books, 10) go on much-anticipated family trips to two very different relaxing locations.
I like this plan.
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