spoony driftwood

George Takei: The Center of the Universe, Take Two

2012-01-28T08:22:00.000+01:00

Brother: "How did George Takei end up the center of the digital universe?"

Me: "Because he's George Takei. He posts really amusing images/memes that must be shared. I will get on Facebook just to see if he's posted anything new. True, he does not create these tropes, but he has a largish sphere of influence, so that makes him like an Erasmus of the internet. That's funny, because Erasmus was like the internet of the 15th century. How times have changed."

George Takei: The Center of the Universe

2012-01-28T08:17:00.002+01:00

"George Takei is now the tropic center of Facebook. We orbit him like little tiny satellites around a shining (non-sparkling) sun as he collects and sends forth amusements. They must be shared." -- myself on Wednesday

A Paraphrased Conversation with I.*

2012-01-27T23:00:00.000+01:00

Me: "Friend I., do you watch 'Once Upon a Time'?"

Friend I: "I do. I watched the pilot, and I thought, 'This is stupid.' Then half an hour later I had a craving to watch the next episode."

Me: "Agreed. It's my guilty pleasure. I watch it, and then I think, 'I have to balance this out with a respectable show. I'm going to go watch "Battlestar Galactica."'"

*No, I did not have a schizophrenic conversation with myself.

Refrigerator Magnets: I've Made it to the Big Time

2012-01-26T09:22:00.003+01:00

I have made it in life! To a certain degree anyway. A fellow student in my poetry writing class said that one of the lines I wrote could be put on a refrigerator magnet: "among siblings, one is always a child."

Whoo for freshly-minted aphorisms, or possible koans.

I'm a Centaur! Wait...

2012-01-24T23:00:00.000+01:00

I have a a pair of black ballet slippers, and if you just look at the toes, they look like hooves. Every time I slip them on while wearing long pants, I look down at my legs and think, "I'm a centaur! Hi-ho, awaaaaaaay!!!" Then I remember. I am not a centaur.

The Pleasures of Break

2012-01-14T23:45:00.002+01:00

If I have done nothing else during this break, I have read. Nothing too fancy, but it has been a delight to devour books of my own choosing, at my own pace, at my own level of difficulty. Not that I don't enjoy struggling with the prose of Henry James or the ideological complexities of Ralph Ellison, but fluff (which comprises much of the books that I completed) has its place. As the Sister has done over at Vie Lyonnaise, I'm including my own list of the books I've read over the break.

Completed:
Eternal Man - Truman G. Madsen
The Turn of the Screw - Henry James
Abarat - Clive Barker
Days of Magic, Nights of War - Clive Barker
Absolute Midnight - Clive Barker
Ella Enchanted - Gail Carson Levine
assorted Edgar Allan Poe short stories
assorted articles from the "Edgar Allan Poe Review"

Started:
A Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Embassytown - China Mieville
Night's Master - Tanith Lee

To-read:
Rough Stone Rolling - Richard Bushman
Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith
The Omnivore's Dilemma - Michael Pollan

In other news, Avi, if you're out there reading this, know that I have been listening to "Morally Sound," and I adore it. I make my home-friends listen to it, and in turn it makes me everything I always wanted to be: the cool kid with (at least, comparatively) the most obscure music.

2011-12-24T23:23:00.000+01:00

"The men felt overwhelmed by their most ancient memories in that paradise of dampness and silence, going back to before original sin, as their boots sank into pools of steaming oil and their machetes destroyed bloody lilies and golden salamanders. For a week, almost without speaking, they went ahead like sleepwalkers through a universe of grief, lighted only by the tenuous reflection of luminous insects, and their lungs were overwhelmed by a suffocating smell of blood."

-Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

On "Maria" again

2011-12-05T06:15:00.001+01:00

"These tints of feeling indeed were doubtless but the iridescence of his idleness, and they were presently lost in new light from Maria."

--Henry James, The Ambassadors, 12.iii

because

2011-11-11T06:35:00.001+01:00

"The awful tragedy of this life, as of the next, is not suffering. It is "suffering in vain." Or worse, it is suffering that could have been the elixir of nobility, transforming us into a godliness beyond description which, instead, has become the poison of bitterness and alienation.

"But this is equally certain: from the smoldering rubble of our lives, stricken and agonized though they be, there can arise, through Christ, an incredible shining joy, a joy in the image of Christ who is the image of God who overcame all things."

-Truman G. Madsen, Eternal Man

On Resurfacing (Again) only to Plunge Deeper

2011-11-07T08:18:00.002+01:00

Humblegrumblemumble. It's November, the month of much-work-to-be-done. Much work to be done, not much discipline, it's going to be a month where I'll be doing a lot of work by myself. So when I go out to be "social," I'll just have to make the most of it.

This is what my life should be like. I'm alone and there's no reference to any surrounding world. So I wouldn't even realize it - it - so I feel like there's nothing to be missed. (A lie I whisper to myself at night to compensate for the fact I'm missing everything.) Solitude, T.A. Harrison.

Musings: An Aesthetic Experience with Andrea Bocelli

2011-09-21T23:00:00.000+02:00

So, I'm reading loads of Henry James right now, taught by an intellectual whose capacity for making connections and tying things together is supernal. I've been thinking about "aesthetic experiences" which art can elicit, and earlier I had an aesthetic experience--being moved by "Time to Say Goodbye," sung by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman. I'm not sure what I understood, but I was moved, almost to the point of tears, because something bigger and grander was behind me.

Listening to Bocelli and Brightman, and also being reminded of coming across Pavoretti's "Nessun Dorma" a few months ago, and I had the feeling that these songs, what they are trying to say, is reality. I don't know what they're saying (literally; I don't understand Italian!), but whatever it is, it's true and real. Just as much as the things we see, feel, deal with daily.

Maybe that "something bigger and grander" is life, real life.

Updates, On Breathing, and Dissatisfaction

2011-09-20T23:00:00.000+02:00

What is that song they sang on Glee, No Air? Gasp, that might actually express how I'm feeling.

It’s time to come up for a breath and recap what I've been doing (and please Bonanerz in the process). After leaving New YorkCity in mid-August, I went Home for a grand total of four days and then was off and away back to College. And jolines, was it back to College. I wasn’teven doing schoolwork for the first two weeks, only doing training and thenhelping out at Orientation. Everything since… June… has been filled, busy, awhirlwind.

Now, I am immersed in the depths of schoolwork yet again.Indeed, with this wonderful, dreadful thing called thesis looming over my head,I always have something large, something bigger than myself to work on.

I see this photo and think "Little Secrets"

Immersed is the correct word to use in this case. I havebeen wading through possible primary sources, and taken a look at the vast oceanof information which exists about my subject. It’s thrilling, I get to engagein this conversation, perhaps even suggest something new. I get to direct myown studies. The feelings I have now are akin to those I had back in Scotland,where I was responsible for the direction and depth of my own education.

Now, the trouble will be balancing out those directions andpolicing myself.

In one sense, I’m incredibly satisfied with the largerproject of thesis I have going on—I wish I could spend all my days researchingfor my topic, interspersed here and there with Henry James and occasionally Augustusand even Homer, to break it up every now and then. I wish I could shut myselfin a room lined from floor-to-ceiling with books and a big table. And that myliving space was separate from that space, and that I could shut myself up inthere without feeling like I’m missing the world that’s bound to pass me by.

Though in other senses, too, I’m feeling unfulfilled. I wishlife were more like Edinburgh, where I felt more of a separation betweenwork/school and home-life. Maybe life as a graduate student is calling me?Probably not.

I’m also getting a feeling that I need to leave, to runaway. This has happened before, possibly even been mentioned on this blog, butthe enchantment distant lands hold is calling me. Somehow, the life I am livingseems disenchanting. I am the same lackluster person--not that running far away will fix it.

"Finally Moving" outside of the LACMA.

Some nights, when you want to have a dance party byyourself in your room, you put in your ear buds, only to realize that the musicon your iPod does not reflect your tastes, who you've become, except maybe the Coldplay(Viva La Vida was a good album) and the U2 you own (because it’s U2). I suppose I feel simultaneously too young and too old... for whatever it is that I'm trying to do.

Maybe I need a different place to grow for a while (New York, Chicago, Seattle, Boston)? Or perhaps just different music (Passion Pit, Baths, MGMT). This time, on my iPod.

Quick List of the Past Seven Days

2011-08-08T02:39:00.001+02:00

So, my days - in reverse chronological order - have contained some neat experiences. It is almost too much to process completely, and I am barely scratching the surface when I give you my quick recant:

Sunday - I spent a wonderful day catching up with one of my closest friends as she visits in New York.

Saturday - I toured Philadelphia with two wonderful College friends! We saw the Magic Gardens of Isaiah Zagar, which were fantastical and deserve their own post, Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, and Ben Franklin's grave (which also deserve their own posts), and then walked around and discovered Philadelphia.

Friday - I went with my sister and two friends to a production of Romeo and Juliet by the Royal Shakespeare Company at Lincoln Center. It was the best Romeo and Juliet I have ever seen; truly, world-class poetry performed by world-class actors.

Thursday - I saw Metropolis, a 1927 silent German film, with two performers orchestrating the music, with yet another wonderful College friend in Brooklyn.

Wednesday - I tried to go to a Mets game with a friend from high school. We had some pretty superb tickets, but were rained out.

Tuesday and Monday - I either did nothing, or I can't remember that far back.

Elevator Etiquette

2011-08-06T05:00:00.001+02:00

In any large city with high rise buildings, you are bound to use elevators frequently. Some of them are the size of dumb waiters and can uncomfortably squeeze in two, while others are the size of cattle corrals and can hold twenty people.

I haven't been in a high rise city for very long, but I have come to a few conclusions about what constitute polite behaviour in the elevating area.

Talking: Take this on a case-by-case basis. I'm pretty shy, so my modus operandi is not to engage strangers at work - or even in my building - in conversation. It is acceptable to talk in the elevator to a friend in the elevator, if you do so quietly.

Other people's dogs or babies makes things easier. You can comment on how cute their child is, or ask to pet their dog. What could be an awkward 45-second ride has suddenly turned into painless pandering that's over before it's done!

Looking at people: It's kind of awkward. There are usually mirrors, so look at yourself, or if you're into taking risks, check out the hot guy in the elevator next to you. It's always a safe bet to look at the floor numbers.

Oh goodness, this is a recipe for making people boring. Don't do this stuff, don't do any of it. Talk to people in the elevator! Engage them in conversation! It doesn't matter, even if you live in the same building, because you'll either never see them or see them so rarely it won't matter.

Holding the doors: Obviously, hold them if someone is in your direct line of sight, of if they call out to hold the elevator.

It becomes tricky when you keep holding the elevator for someone who is slow, or you jump into the elevator in the nick of time and in turn hold the door for someone else - essentially, you've doubled the waiting time for the other elevatees. Be nice anyway, and ignore any prickly feelings on your neck inspired by their glowers.

Crowded elevators: I haven't mastered this one yet, but squeezing in if there's a small gap is permissible. If there is a moving company stacking things in the elevator, though, it's easier to take the stairs.

Pushing the button: If someone is getting out, don't push the "Close doors" button until they have completely exited from the elevator. Hovering over the button with your thumb as the doors are opening is poor behavior.

Avoiding all of these elevator woes: You can take the stairs! Though, depending on how your wide your stairs are, a whole new set of etiquette may be required.

Living in New York City: Cockroaches 102

2011-08-02T12:00:00.000+02:00

This evening, it happened again. A cockroach infiltrated the apartment.

It was scuttling around the apartment as I was on the phone with a close friend of mine, and she was subjected to my piteous wails as I watched it patter about. After a few good whines, I got out a newspaper, heavy book, and my game face, then went cockroach hunting.

I cornered it in the bathroom, waiting for my opportunity to strike. I got the heebie-jeebies when it almost ran over my toes, but a toss of the newspaper, followed closely by the heavy book, got it.

I tried not to register the crunch when I pirouetted on the heavy book.

Still on the phone with my friend, after the episode I tried going back to my dinner. Whatever was left of the roach was lying under a book - The Fall and Rise of Angelshut - and the Investment section of the Wall Street Journal.

Growing One's "Personal Brand"

2011-08-02T05:00:00.002+02:00

Here in the city, I've become acquainted with someone who talks about "growing one's personal brand." The personal brand is essentially now-speak for being or doing something which distinguishes you from others. For example, popping out code names for everything and everyone you meet, or priding oneself on wearing interesting garments on the lower half of one's body, helps to establish a personal brand.

To me, the idea of a personal brand isn't very useful. To a certain degree, we market ourselves to other people by choosing what to show of ourselves, but putting mental energy into creating that image just isn't worth it. I am what you see, and more, and my experiences - some of them consciously chosen, others heaped upon me - have shaped this "brand" of mine.

Now, the rest of this post has nothing to do with personal branding.

Instead, it's about professional branding! Let me tout the fact that I've made my BBC debut. Given the circumstances of my summer, it is unsurprising that I've had a short post published by BBC Travel. Check out my article on the Cross Egypt Challenge.

You're getting quality writing here without having to pay a subscription or sit through advertisements. Think about that for a while.

----

Unrelated to anything said above, oof, I'm on the cusp of something. I'm not being mysterious on purpose right now; even I don't know what I'm thinking or what will come out. But something is coming my way, indeed.

Ideas: The Gathering

2011-08-01T05:00:00.000+02:00

Eesh, "The Gathering" sounds like the title to an atrocious video game sequel. All video games aside, unfortunately, I've been thinking ahead to what I want to do. Firstly, there's thesis, which has taken a back seat to this other idea I'm working on. It involves New Zealand, and I'm at a point where I'm reviewing how creative other people have been.

I want to be creative, too. I want to be intelligent and intellectual, too. A while ago, I felt I had cracked intellectualism and creativity (there's a post about it somewhere); I still think I have got it, but I'll need a lot of practice.

Hmm. Ideas. Not ideas, half-baked ideas. Fledgling ideas, is more like it. And it just takes time and concentration, loads of energy, and a little luck.

hmm, enigma

Allison Krauss in Connecticut

2011-07-31T06:20:00.001+02:00

A ticket to the Allison Krauss and Union Station concert came my way, so I nabbed it and headed to Connecticut with my sister and an acquaintance of hers. I'd never listened much to Allison Krauss, and typically I don't care for female vocals, but her voice was so sweet and clear, that it was a pleasure to listen to live.

As an added bonus, I discovered Union Station! If you live under a cultural rock like me (which is a running theme of this blog and should be made its subheading), then you may have heard - or even seen! - the popular film O Brother, Where Art Thou, with George Clooney, Morgan Freeman, John Goodman, etc, and directed by Joel Coen. Well, Union Station are the real Swampy Bottom Boys! The lead singer, Dan Tyminsky, introduced himself as the singing voice of George Clooney.

The songs, though twangy, were refreshing. When I was younger, I told myself that the only kind of country-honky-tonk-bluegrass I could listen to happily would be the type sung by the musicians from O Brother, Where Art Thou (this has been revised for some time). I enjoyed the concert, and from the first chords my pulse quickened a little bit. As the concert went on, some of the songs started to sound the same.

But when the group took a break and let Jerry Douglas play his stringed instrument, the dobro (it looked like a guitar turned on its back), the concert changed for me. He didn't sing but plucked at the strings so rapidly it was like he created a waterfall in sound. The music moved me; I could see a future for myself in the music he created.

Most of the concert sounded like bluegrass to me, but they shifted to a few gospel songs and two songs from OBWAT. It was beautiful and chilling to hear "I am a man of constant sorrow" and "Down to the river to pray" in-person, and another song written by Rob Block about suffering.

Overall, the concert was a good time, and a good investment at a beautiful location (Ives Concert Park near Western Connecticut University) in the midst of trees and nature. I couldn't imagine a more wonderful concert.

Things I Have Learned so Far, Part Four

2011-07-30T07:29:00.003+02:00

Anytime is a good time for reflection, and I was reflecting on some of the things I've learned and which have been on my mind. This is my New York City version. Read my first or second versions of what I learned in Madrid, and then my non-site-specific summary of things I've learned.

There will always be Shakespeare. Especially in New York City, especially in the summer.
Never turn down a glass of water. Especially in 90+ degree heat. You can bond over glasses of water - just like anything else, really, that you have in common.
I'm in an apprenticeship, and have been for some time, actually - only I just recently found out what kind of apprenticeship it is.
Always carry a not-empty water bottle, a book, and something to write in.
We meet some people for a reason. Believing in people and being interested by their passions opens the pathway to possibility.
Walking home through the city after a play or concert means enlightenment.
Columbus Circle is magical at night, with the lights and the water.
I've found that I am happy wherever I am at the moment. The patch of grass beneath my feet is transportable. People are very important, but time and distance matter less because I'll get to see them again someday.
I've been reminded that I need better support for the balls of my feet. The blisters are returning for round 48, it seems.
I can fit lots of activities and commitments in - even a concert in Connecticut - but not everything.
Honey goat cheese or Crunchie candy bars make any day better. Crunchies especially help the work day go faster.
The world does not have to remain in the same state it appears. It won't look the way I will envision it, because nothing works out perfectly, but it can be changed for the better.
People. Are. Important.
God is very aware and active in our lives. I had forgotten that.
I allow myself too many attractive distractions here. The plays, the lights, the food, the music, is all too much. I need time, lots of time, to think about thesis and grad school and whatever else is coming down the bend.
I need more sleep.

Review: The Silver Tassie

2011-07-28T08:04:00.000+02:00

Lincoln Centre's The Silver Tassie, performed by the Ireland-based Druid Theatre, hit home on many levels. Though the play does not have a solid plot line - it is more a series of brief snapshots of several characters from an Irish town during World War I - it managed to draw out feelings I had not felt for quite some time. With my very casual and brief knowledge of expressionist theater, where the play is supposed to express a feeling, the scenes certainly created a mood and tone for these events. Like all good theater, and good art, it helped me to glimpse into the head of someone else and feel for a moment what they might be feeling.

We are introduced to the inhabitants of a small Irish town, where Harry the rugby player has just won the prize cup (silver tassie), celebrating with his friends, best girl Jessie, family, and neighborhood wife-beater. No, not the shirt.

The play almost felt like a musical, particularly in the second act. Every few minutes, the dialogue was punctuated with songs, short scraps of folk songs and music. Many of the songs, sung by soldiers waiting to be sent to the front, asked "Why are we here?", while others memorialized the dead or made fun of a prissy soldier. Without the music, the play would have not had the same force in any degree.

The play was a hodgepodge of what can only be very true snapshots of real life. There were contradictions, such as a chilling prayer sung to God and to the larger-than-stage tank which took the scene. In the aftermath of the war, the protagonist was left in a wheelchair and the wife-beater blind; their roles and positions in society were completely reversed, yet none of the fellow characters sympathized with them as broken - but still full, feeling - people. The play was very, very bitter.

Sound like a lot to take in all at once? At times, it was, particularly while getting used to the words and cadence of the Irish tongues, but the play's pacing was slow enough to let a thick audience member like me follow. And indeed, some heavy themes were casually thrown on stage. Because the characters took such things in stride, the audience was forced to, too - rather unwillingly.

But from the mother holding her son's empty coat in front of him before he goes to war, to the dismissive cruelty of a former lover, to the final scene where the blind man wheels his paralyzed friend home away from the swinging party, this play elicited a sense of injustice, suffering and pain. Of course, there were the lighter moments, too, of soldiers knocking cups on their helmets and rear ends making fun of war, but I thought this play gave me a cold, hard look at who and what humans are: careless, selfish, broken, and contradictory.

It was painful, beautiful, ugly, and brilliant all at once.

Shakespeare in the Park Round II: Measure for Measure

2011-07-22T17:00:00.000+02:00

Yesterday, (instead of going to Philadelphia or Rochester, as I had planned) I fulfilled a youngling New York City experience: wait in line for tickets to Shakespeare in the Park on a hot summer day, hang out, and then go to the play later that evening.

I already wrote a hasty post on the other Shakespeare in the Park play, "All's Well that Ends Well," but in that scenario, two wonderful friends of mine waited in line and got me a ticket. This time, however, I joined them at 10 am, waiting in the line that already curved through Central Park.

And let me tell you, at a blistering 95 degrees Fahrenheit, it made the three-hour wait until tickets were given out arduous. The shade didn't do much in the 60% humidity, but I'd certainly and gladly take it over being in the sun. We talked, and secretly I would have liked to talk more - or shut off completely and read my book - but my friends used the three hours in part to catch up with their family members (which is important), and I kept getting distracted by sounds and conversations around me. I would have liked to enter into the discussion with the group of intellectuals behind us in line or the couple who was playing Scattergories in front of us, but I didn't.

Lessons for next time.

After getting our tickets, we headed to the American Museum of Natural History, saw the brain exhibit (super neat, possibly pictures to come), and then ate at Spice, a Korean fusion restaurant, and then headed over to the theater. I saw the play in its entirety, spending a grand total of 16 consecutive hours away from the apartment in the day, and arrived home absolutely beat and sweaty, because the heat did not let up for a moment once the sun had gone down.

Eating in New York: Khyber Pass

2011-07-20T17:00:00.000+02:00

An interesting little joint in the East Village, Khyber Pass serves up some very tasty Afghan cuisine. I had some pumpkin kourma, which deliciously fell apart in my mouth, as I'm learning pumpkin is wont to do. I had some of my friend's butter-and-garlic pasta, which was a bit runny and slimy; flavour-wise, her entree beat mine, but texture-wise, my pumpkin kourma took home the prize.

We split some Afghani baklava, which was more like a crunchy, sweet, honey pastry, opposed to the less-sweet millefeuille-like pastry you find at Greek festivals. I was pleasantly surprised.

In terms of decor, the restaurant was close and cozy, filled with sultry red light against the red-brick walls, deep rich tapestries, and drawings that reminded me of the Bayeux Tapestry. Seating was largely at tables, but there were two window nooks where you could sit cross-legged on pillows and admire the passersby: great for a party with your twenty-something friends.

Overall, a good restaurant, which I would happily return to. The only drawback is that they allow hookah. For a non-smoker like me, that's fine so long as the hookah's on the other side of the room. It's not so fine when the table next to you lights up and fills the air with cloying smoke. We were there pretty early, and I imagine that hookah-smokers would appear later in the evening as more of an aperitif, so if you're ever in the East Village area looking for food off the beaten path, specifically on St Marks Street, give it a go.

A Virginia Jaunt: Luray Caverns, Shenandoah Bluegrass Festival, and Washington DC

2011-07-16T06:00:00.000+02:00

I'm finally catching up to what happened the weekend of the 4th of July. My sister and I took a wonderful trip down to Virginia, travelling through six states in one day to the Shenandoah Valley. We arose early in the morning, took the train from Penn Station out to Newark airport where a rental car awaited us. Getting the car in Newark - my sister's idea, and a brilliant one - made getting out of Manhattan an absolute breeze and then continued drove the six hours to Virginia.

Meet our trusty caravan, the Pearl.

She took us down the road, singing the songs from "Muppet Treasure Island" and listening as we tried to impress each other with our knowledge - or lack thereof - of our nation's states and capitals.

Our first day of three on the road, I ate more at McDonald's than I would ever like to again: once for lunch and then again to grab snacks. The rolo-McFlurry was thrust upon me because of the situation; though I was full, I had to get one because of the sheer rarity of the dulce delicacy. As the sweet caramel dribbled down my gullet, my innards wept with joy.

Not Central Park, if you catch my drift.

Onward. We passed through six states (New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Virginia), and arrived at the KOA we had reserved.

Note to self: never stay at a KOA. It's obviously not real camping. There were flush toilets, showers, laundry - which are tolerable - and a swimming pool, lodge to play billiards, buy popcorn, and rent movies, plus organized events like juggling and pancake breakfasts.

Worst of all, it wasn't very private. The place was packed. Couldn't commune with nature a whole lot.

After the tent was pitched, we took a jaunt over to the Luray Caverns, which I'm going to gloss over right now, just saying that it was beautiful. If you don't believe in God, believe in the power of nature and let holiness into your soul for a little while when you visit this natural cathedral.

Dream Lake

Note: if you want to become a real custard aficionado, forget a place like New York City. Go out into the country, drive around, and stop at every custard place you see. My sis is the real custarphile, and although she hasn't driven around on trips specifically for custard, her opinion is that the best places are in the country.

Addendum: my sis is a smart cookie. Trust her advice, especially when it comes to custard.

Stalacpipe organ

Afterwards, we went to the First Annual Oak Leaf Bluegrass and Mountain Music Festival in Luray, Virginia. It was my first time hearing bluegrass live! They can really get you going, make you feel the music in your blood. Some of it was much twang, other was not.

After the bluegrass festival, we spent a night on the hard earth - amidst the rain - then drove in the morning through Shenandoah Park and took a few hikes. Neither of them were very arduous, despite all of the waring about "strenuous mountain hikes" surrounding us.

We climbed the highest peak in Shenandoah Park, the Hawksbill. The short but steep trail was about 1.7 miles, and the round-trip was expected to take two hours. Intrepid, proud little me, I did want to see how quickly we could get up the hill. Armed with the knowledge that we've done in the West whatever the East has to offer, the sis and I started up. Twenty minutes later and through vast hordes of gnats, we arrived at the top.

It was awesome, except for the gnats. When the winds were still, the air was still thrumming with their sound. Multiple decibels were discernible to the sensitive ear; the closer the swarms were, the higher the pitch. Listen long enough, and your skin would start to crawl, but you cannot escape from the noise or the knowledge that there are so many insects in such close proximity to you, seeking you out and swarming around you.

After a rainstorm

The pictures above are misleading. They are not from the top of the Hawksbill. The pictures below, however, are from the Hawksbill! A portion of the longer, easier trail to the top actually joins up with the Appalachian Trail. Did you hear that? I hiked part of the Appalachian Trail! No, I wasn't pulling a Mark Sanford and secretly popping down to Argentina. I hiked the Appalachian Trail for about a mile!

I also learned on that trip that the Trail is very, very long. Difficult to do the whole thing in a season.

It took us a good few hours to drive the 100 miles through the park, seeing as we stopped at every other turnoff to take pictures.

Once through the harrowing camera-trap of the Park, we started cruising up to DC, where we spent the night with my sis' friend, woke up late, went to lunch with another friend of hers, and then drove home just in time to watch the 4th of July fireworks on TV.

Oh, and something about diet Coke, rooftops, and bottle rockets. Perhaps mints of an unknown brand were also present.

Why Do I Blog?

2011-07-14T11:00:00.001+02:00

Blogger Buzz recently asked the question, "Why do you blog?" My answer has nothing that is life-changing in it. It's not like Post Secret, which has saved lives and erases the loneliness inherent in being human. But my answer is meaningful to me, my answer is as complex as my blog, my thought processes, my personality.

I started blogging back in 2009 because I was talking with my friend Max about his blog; he told me that I should record my thoughts because he thought they were worthwhile. Based on his recommendation, I started blogging, too. In the beginning, it had no direction, no theme - it was just a place to record my thoughts.

My backyard, 2009

I went through periods of activity and inactivity. In one of my more creative and feeling-inspiring moods, I thought the blog needed more direction, so I started two social experiments as a sophomore in college. Inspired, undoubtedly, by things I was reading in my classes and discussing with my peers.

I stopped shaving my legs and covered my mirrors so I wouldn't have to look at myself. I wanted to think and feel like myself, not see what other people saw me. I never cared so little about my appearance - but I have never been less vain about my appearance. The no-shave experiment lasted about four months, and the no-mirror experiment about a week. Nothing revolutionary happened, my blog did not gain a hundred thousand hits in a month, but I gained a few social insights. And realized that some intellectuals and theorists go too far: I realized and understood in a more profound way than ever before that many theories have little practical application to real life.

Albion Basin, Utah, 2009

Then, I got an internship in Madrid, Spain, and this blog suddenly had a different purpose. I shaved my legs because my mother disapproved and said that though it was fine for an American at a women's college not to shave, it would be different in Spain. Note that I could have gotten along fine; giving in was not one of my braver moments) In Spain, I used my blog as a way to keep touch with the folks back home, to hone my writing skills, and to make up for the fact that I was quite lonely. I was in a country where I didn't speak the language. Aside from my bumbling attempts at Spanish while at church, my fellow interns, and some of the language-class people, I didn't make any friends.

Madrid, Spain, 2010

Immediately after, I studied in Edinburgh, Scotland. Naturally, I continued to use this blog as the way to communicate with my family. It morphed into a public journal and repository for a lot of things I found to be interesting. It turned into a way I could promote my church. Quotes and ideas found there way onto the blog column. Have you seen how many quotations I kept in November/December while I was writing papers? My posts were fewer and shorter because I had more to keep me occupied in Edinburgh than in Madrid.

Sterling, Scotland, 2010

For the past six months, I've blogged less because I haven't been out of my element. I've been happy and content at college. Some of my thoughts may have been caught like dreams in a dream catcher, but in no way systematically.

And now, I'm in Manhattan for the summer doing another internship. I've tried to use it as a public journal and to keep my friends updated as to what I'm doing.

Roosevelt Island, Manhattan, 2011

That answers what I've done with my blog, but not why I keep it. I keep it because a blog lets me be indulge my narcissism, lets me share things I think are worth sharing. I keep a blog because it's a place to keep my thoughts - when I have them.

Sagrada Familia, Barcelona 2010

So here we are, back at the beginning. This blog has no point or theme other than to be a repository for what I'm doing and thinking, possibly to help the stray who comes across what I write, and to expand and change as my needs expand and change. I will always need writing, and I will need to share what I write - do - am - so congratulations, spoony driftwood, it looks like you'll be in business for a while yet.

On Reading My First eBook

2011-07-12T03:00:00.003+02:00

I'm reading my first eBook for pleasure. I downloaded Craig Cliff's A Man Melting a few nights ago, and am proceeding to read it via Kindle's program for PC.

And I hate it. I hate that I can't turn the pages, that I have to use the Highlight tool, that I can't scribble little notes in the margins,that it tells me what percentage I am through the novel - like I'm back in college, counting down the number of pages until I can stop.

I hate the formatting (because there is no style! It is lifeless!), I hate how staring at a glowing screen is making my eyes go cross-eyed, and how my fingers mechanically hit Ctrl + t when I need to look up a word I don't know. My mind turns off instead instead of savoring this new word for my vocabulary, enjoying not knowing what it means and pondering what it might mean, not stretching my memory to see if I really do know what it means.

I balk at the aspect of having an eBook most particularly because of having to read it via my computer. Maybe having a real Kindle would change my experience, but I loath reading it on my laptop. I stare at a laptop for eight hours a day at my internship. The last thing I want to do is get on my laptop again to enjoy reading a book.

Accessing the book, though, was a breeze and I cannot complain one whit. Mr Cliff is from New Zealand, and although his book is available in NZ and Australia, but living in the US makes it a little difficult. With one click, I got the book instantly. Perhaps getting the novel instantaneously is worth not having it in paperback-form. Enough talk about the technology, though.

The novel so far? Spectacular.

Drive-by Floral Spotting

2011-07-09T05:00:00.005+02:00

On my way home from work, I passed a flower shop on 46th Street, between Park and Madison. It was a small nook of a place, its window crammed with flowers. It was a sunny, bright, organic splash in the heart of grey Midtown.

And it was completely suspicious.

I won't publish the name of the place in order to avoid slandering it, but it looked like the perfect cover-up for shady business dealings. Behind the counter was a large, tough-looking man talking to another large man. With tattoos. I'm sure they're perfectly nice people, I just wouldn't want to test out my theory and be wrong. Despite my education against stereotyping and my continual quest against it, I still draw vague conclusions from the little television I've seen about mafia or shows where the young, naive protagonist thinks they've uncovered some of the mafia's activities. It's too good an opportunity to pass up for imagining some vague, noir story involving the poppy trade and a son who really only wants to be a florist (throw in a girlfriend who wants to be mob boss, a Jewish mother who's not really Jewish, and a few orcas, and you have a pulp-fiction smash hit).

The flower shop was about as unassuming as this zoo...

...or this old Wilson-esque picture of me in Belgium. Suspicious Belgium, I'm on to you. And your vanishing fishermen.

Ahh, how I love saying outrageous things on the internet. In this post, I have successfully channeled the outrageously funny tone of the Oatmeal. Whoo.

Living in NYC 101: Cockroaches

2011-07-09T05:00:00.003+02:00

Our apartment I live in is fairly clean (especially when we, erm, clean it), and so far in my stay we've only had ants, but the other day I had another experience entirely: the cockroach.

My sister had been warning me against finding cockroaches; the other day when I was sweeping under a chest of drawers, she said that last time a cockroach had scuttled (I always thought scuttling was slow, like a crab walk - can cockroaches scuttle if they move at the speed of light? can they hyperscuttle?) from underneath it.

Well, I came back on Thursday from an activity and was about to enter the bathroom when I stopped dead. Just underneath the sink was a flat, black-and-red cockroach. It was supine, its disgustingly long antennae flat and its many feet sticking up in the air.

Eep.

I let K come over and "deal with it" by putting down the WSJ and then Popular Hikes Near New York City. She stepped on it and cleaned it all up (she's so so so nice, isn't she?). The cockroach, if not dead before, was now no more.

And promptly put in the trash. There will be no more cockroaches, I hope.

New York City Tasters

2011-07-07T05:00:00.000+02:00

Because everyone knows pictures are easier to look at than text. So much has been happening, and it's a lot to digest and contemplate.

Mermaid Parade, from three weeks ago

It's an amenemone, amenome, anenome...

Artistic photo

Me at a Yankee's game! Obviously I didn't get the memo about what you're supposed to wear....

The beloved Bubble Battle, same day as the Mermaid Parade

Nat'l Parking it, "Melmouth" pose

See a resemblance to Caspar David Freidrich's "Wanderer above the Sea of Fog"?

Living in NYC 101: Staying Sane

2011-07-06T05:00:00.000+02:00

A key element to living in a highly compact city is knowing when to leave. Stepping onto the street is incredibly exciting; there is something undeiniable in the air, an energy, a vivacity. It perks you up like a shot of java at 3 pm. There is always movement, always people, always sights and lights and things to see.

And it can be exhausting.

After the first week, I think I was exhausted without knowing it, which is why for the past few weeks I've slowed down a little in all the places I've been trying to hit - though I must admit, I've been busy in other ways. (And there are a few more directions which I need to be busy in, like where my future is headed... eep. But enough of that.)

And what better way to keep sane in New York City than reminding yourself that there is a world beyond it (which does not start on the other side of the Atlantic or in California)? That's right, we left the City, pretending to be like other good New Yorkers who clear out of the city each weekend.

Read more about what I did here (link pending)!

Not your concrete jungle.

New York Observations: Sweatshirts

2011-07-04T05:00:00.000+02:00

One of these things is increasingly becoming like the others.

During my second week living in New York City, I noticed a habit which had been steadily becoming more solid. I had gotten a lovely green cardigan while I was at Home, and considered it as a dressier article of clothing which spiffed up my wardrobe. I had been wearing the cardigan fairly frequently since arriving in the City, and so it had become quotidian. It wasn't quite as dressy anymore; I needed to keep wearing it to maintain a certain standard of presentation.

As I was running out the door one day, instead of grabbing my IFSA-Butler sweatshirt as I thought I had been wont to do, I intentionally grabbed the cardigan,my new-found favourite article of clothing. It struck me that I hadn't seen anyone wearing a sweatshirt, really, since arriving in the City, unless they were blatantly a tourist. It is indeed summer, and sweatshirts are too warm right now, but I don't think that is the only reason for this dearth of nylon and polyester blends.

My sweatshirt has lain forlorn and forgotten on my chair, buried deeper and deeper beneath my more frequently-donned, dressier articles of clothing (well, I took it camping, so it's received some love). This is a City which appreciates the put-together and the eclectic, eccentric. And what about those who like sweatshirts? Being passed by-the-bye - but hopefully in favour of more adventurous options. Not like these jumpsuits, though.

As time passes on, though, almost unconsciously, I've adjusted myself to fit my surroundings. If it's possible, I'm increasingly becoming like the other people around me.

Well, only becoming like the others by so much.

There is Too Much To Do (A Lament)

2011-06-27T20:00:00.000+02:00

And not enough time to fit it all in. I wish I could divide myself into five and go and have all these experiences and make it to everything. But if I started off with five Lizzles in New York, then it would rapidly expand to a hundred Lizzles, not just taking on a city or dotting a country, but covering the entire globe.

I'm slated to go to a Yankees game tomorrow night, and then I've committed myself to activities on Wednesday and (possibly, still thinking about it) Thursday. But look! There are so many other things to do! Inconveniently scheduled at the same time, hence the need for a multi-corporeal unified experience.

Welcome Back Mr MacDonald seems like an interesting film - I'd never heard of it before, but after reading a brief synopsis (a radio actress wants to change a small part of an otherwise perfectly acceptable script, which results in all the other members of the cast and crew wanting to change parts of it - on air - and a completely different drama) I really, really want to see it.

Or see Jeremy Chan, who plays the likes of Stravinsky, Schubert, and Arvo Part. I'm half in love with Part's music; not like Stravinksy and Schubart aren't masterful, but Part's music is so compelling. The 39 Steps is playing in Bryant Park tomorrow, there's Steindler's Thanks for a Good Morning (also something I hadn't heard of), Rufus Wainwright performing... There are opportunities for Saturday afternoon activities, like surf lessons(!) and jazz parties (among other things). Not to mention I still need to see the Alexander McQueen exhibit at the Metropolitan and the Alhambra exhibit at the Botanical Gardens. Somebody kick me.

Thus, lament, oh lament, that I am just one singular person in this singular cacophonic slurry of lights, sights, sounds, breaths, and sighs.

Fireflies in Central Park

2011-06-26T21:00:00.001+02:00

No, unfortunately there were no sightings of Nathan Fillion or Gina Torres, but something much more common.

Just as the title says, I saw fireflies in Central Park last night, little glowing lights flashing every now and then, hovering above the grass in the dusk. Sporadic, estival,, organic. Green, simple. Magical.

All's Well That Ends Well: Not an Unrelated Title

2011-06-25T20:00:00.000+02:00

I actually did see All's Well That Ends Well on Friday with three friends, and it was a delight. Two of my friends had waited in line for four hours at the Shakespeare in the Park office, and graciously got two extra tickets, one for me and another for a friend of mine.

The show had very, very fine acting. It retained the Shakespearean acting, but some of the inflection and delivery on throwaway/transitional lines (i.e. something flippant a character might say as s/he was exiting) was very modern. Never having seen All's Well before, the delivery made the lines understandable. The ending, too, was ambiguous - did he really fall in love with her, or was he resigned to make the best of the situation? That's one for contemplation and discussion.

The best part was the setting. There was the stage, and just beyond it was a pond with rushes and algae covering part of the lake. But the set of the play - a double collonnade hung with a few curtains - was beatufil. So simple, yet so elegant, and it was like living alfresco and having a constant view onto the lake.

And the very best part? Getting to see fireflies light up every now and then, either above me or over the water. Truly magical.

Living in NYC 101: Blisters

2011-06-23T23:00:00.000+02:00

Living in New York City, there are many options for public transportion: subway, bus, taxi. But the cheapest, and by far the most frequent, way of transportation is walking. Most of the time, wearing comfortable shoes is not a viable option when working at an office, and so I've been wearing simple but appropriate shoes.

Which still thrash my feet. I walk almost a mile to work, and then any activities I do after work is just icing on the cake. Of metaphoric blisters. I didn't know that the skin on my toes could bubble so much, or how many layers of skin could be worn away.

The remedy, the blessed remedy - or at least source of relief - is the Duane Reade, the druggist which dots the street corners. There, I purchased for a grand total of $13 Dr Scholl's arch support insoles and heel cushions and the generic Duane Reade corn and bunion cushions. (I was in Sports Authority the other day and saw foot support for runners; would probably also help, not sure if they'd go inconspicuously with your 5-inch stilettos, and didn't check the price point.)

These things help. Help. Not cure. There is no cure to blisters, other than completely staying off your feet and letting your cells work their regenerative magic. Even then, when you do decide to walk outside again, the problem will just reappear.

I suppose alternating shoes, and thus the areas which are rubbed raw, should ease the concentration of pain on any one area, but that would be spreading the "joy" of blisters to all parts of the foot. Monday and Tuesday might be pain-free, but by the end of the week I don't know if I'd be able to walk...

En fin du compte, blisters constitute a ceaseless struggle with the City. To be continued?

Eh, Can't Move... Mermaid Parade and Bubble Battle on Coney Island

2011-06-19T06:33:00.000+02:00

I took myself down to Coney Island today and met Melody and Vicki there to watch the annual Mermaid Parade. We arrived about 1:45 pm for a parade that was supposed to start at 2 pm, stood around until the parade actually started at 2:30, and then left around 3:45 - though there were many lovely mermaid costumes (and just as many less-lovely costumes), there are only so many mermaids I can handle in a day. And there wasn't any end of mermaids coming any time soon.

(Favorite mermaids, by the way, were probably a group called the Kung Fin Fighters. They were separated into red and yellow fin fish, and they did a dance routine to "Kung Foo Fighting"... I also really liked the costume of a pregnant woman who dressed up as a clam: her round belly was a pearl! How cute.)

I went to a Jamaican bakery (the Golden Krust?) for the first time, and had a spinach pita pocket which was tasty, and then the three of us went out to the boardwalk.

At 6 pm, joy of joys, there was the bubble battle! Free mini-canisters of bubbles for those of us who didn't come prepared (me), and people shooting bubble guns at one another, and ginormous bubble wands and the entire boardwalk filled with effervescent, shimmering spheres of summer perfection. A sea of people were thronging beneath a sea of bubbles.

It was a good day :) -- topped off with bangers and mash from an Australian pub (Eight Mile Creek) eaten in a charming beer garden in Little Italy and a cupcake from a bakery just a few blocks down the way. Charming.

This One Has Pictures IV

2011-06-16T00:01:00.001+02:00

Here are photos to catch you up a little on what I've been doing and seeing.

First night in the city, picture taken near the UN.

More sights from my first night in the city.

Grand Central Terminal. It reminds me a little of Big Bridges, and then surpasses it in so many ways.

Tram to Roosevelt Island.

Octagon Garden

...

This is as close as I got to Yo Yo Ma.

Evening cityscape from the Central Park Reservoir.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art at night.

Me and K in the rain right before the Black Eyed Peas concert was cancelled.

Being incredibly gauche and eating Wafels & Dinges waffles in front of Bergdorf Goodman while it was raining. Across the way is FAO Schwarz and the Apple Cube.

Leaving Central Park on a rainy summer evening.

Other notable things I have seen: a stretch Hummer limo that was pink, a girl with bleach-blonde hair sticking out of two foot-long perpendicular planes in her head (think Rufio from Hook x7) and dyed to look similar to an owl-moth.

Um, I also met a street performer. Well, thanks to the religious connection. He plays the PVC pipes. Isn't that neat?

Also, my sister K and I were getting off the Times Square shuttle when the woman who had been sitting directly across from us asked if we were non-identical twins. Point to Lizzle for thinking that K and I look alike, and 10 points to Dumbledore and all additional parties that neither of us look our age.

"No Poem No Song" is a No Go

2011-06-15T20:00:00.001+02:00

In my never-ending quest for cheap or free things to do around the city, I found that Club freeTime had a listing about a play called "No Poem No Song" by the Subjective Theater Company at the Kraine Theater down in the Novelito-East Village area. The playbill said it was a combination of Hindu storytelling, music, and theater; being interested in the culture that has arisen along with Hinduism, I was intrigued and so reserved some tickets.

The Kraine Theater is a tiny hole-in-the-wall venue, probably once a very deep and spacious apartment. Thus, it was intimate and probably held at most 60 patrons. It was like being transported to the old movie theaters of the 1950s, with red faux-velvet chairs and low-rise seating. I settled into my seat next to my friend, excited and apprehensive for what I was about to see.

The play opened with some bongo-like music, and the spirit Eshu narrating about the gods and the beginning of the universe, bidding us to come follow after him into the story. An intriguing start, to be sure - all of a sudden, three revolving panels at the back of the stage opened, spitting forth about twelve more characters, and the stage was suddenly awash with people. With little further ado, the story jumped right into the middle, with the god Ganesh stepping up to confront Eshu, his ostensible uncle/spirit/guardian of "the Crossroads" to show him the way to Mom, the ultimate creator of the universe whom no one ever saw or talked to because she was too sacred. Ganesh announced that he was the god Ganesh, so the audience was able to tack a name and character to face and body, but immediately, the scene changed.

A snappy young businesswoman steps onstage between Ganesh and Eshu, asking if this were the beginning of the story, and if it were, why she wasn't in it. I suppose it wasn't the beginning of her part in the larger story, but the play did not make that clear. Instead, she goes around looking for her mom, who begins to tell her about her day. The daughter, Amy, must confront her mother about a "manifesto" her mother has written about the people who watch her and want to kill her and her family: her children Amy and Mike, who has an unexplained past which probably deals with insanity. Mike, who is a homosexual, breezes onstage (like he has breezed out of his sister's and mother's lives, Amy hints) and calms his mother down by telling her what she wants to hear.

At about this time, the scene shifts again, going back to "the beginning" when the goddess Parvati-Kali sees that her husband Shiva has killed their son Ganesh by beheading him; it was a mistake, as Shiva did not know it was his son because he had just been born three hours before. But somehow, this is still not "the beginning" and they go back to the time when Parvati-Kali and Shiva were throwing a party for their firstborn child (also somehow Ganesh). This child is also killed because a spirit attending the party looks at him and turns him into wool.

Back to the mortal family. The mortal mother details the destruction of the universe in her manifesto, saying that a god who keeps poison in his throat is controlling demons which will hang about everyone and somehow destroy them. The storyline was very similar to the creation of the universe Ganesh and Eshu mention earlier, but that connection was not drawn out. Exactly how the mother arrives at her manifesto is unclear, as well, and we are left wondering if she is a spirit in mortal form, if she has been possessed, or she is just crackpot-crazy. With further information revealed in the play, one might suppose she has been possessed by a god or spirit, but her role in the play remains unclear, as she is meets her death and is buried by her two children in her native West Indies on Grenada.

Is it about here that the storyline switches again? Or was it earlier? You can see how much whiplash this play has given me. And we aren't even to intermission yet. We still have to talk about the destabilization of the gods (when things go south, to whom do the gods themselves pray? ... Exactly, says Lord Brahma), the fact that mortal Mike is really the reincarnation of the poet Vyasa who has been lost for 3,000 years but whose soul has been hiding out in Brooklyn which the gods conveniently cannot see, Ganesh wants to end the suffering of all people and thinks that by destroying Shiva's opium fields he'll make his father hear and see clearly the pain in the world, Mara the spirit of attachment's bid for sovereignty, and Mike's attempted suicide. Oh and a war between gods and spirits, which somehow Ganesh and Mike can solve together.

There was simply way too much going on in this play. I thought about how the play had multiple beginnings, dealt with multiple narratives and whose stories are important, asked about the gods' powers and why things are the way they are, and it would have been interesting to talk about stories, narratives, and voices, and how we determine whose voices are heard. Those questions would have been enough to occupy the theoretical component of the play, but I had no time to process them before we were on to another scene and the play asked yet more half-coherent questions. It was far, far too much.

The acting was fair; sometimes it was difficult to understand what someone was saying, and better staging choices could have been made for some of the characters to make their ideas and intentions clearer. I saw the play with a dramaturg, and she was especially interested in Mara, spirit of illusion and attachment, and how much more could have been done with him. In the middle of the second act, I realized that this was a pastiche of a play - little character depth and little connection. It was more like puppets were being moved around on a stage. (For example, the goddess Parvati-Kali and Shiva were fighting and destroying each other's followers all because Parvati-Kali felt snubbed that Shiva had forgotten her birthday 3,402 years before.) At this point, I kind of checked out and was anxious for the play to end.

The ending seemed like the beginning to me. Ganesh ended up possessing Mike, and through him revolutionized the world, freed people, broke down barriers, opened their minds. It sounded like a load of hippie crap that a seventh grader would put into a play: alluding to abstract ideals without concretely showing us how those ideals were achieved. Ganesh and Mike becoming a composite being should have been at the beginning of the play, and how they "liberated" people should have been the plot of the play.

Content aside, the costuming was simple, a few motley tokens which stood for what plane of existence the character was on - be it god, spirit, or mortal. The same goes for the staging - practically an empty set except for a few chairs. Inexpensive and dynamic.

Overall, the content of the play got 1.5 stars out of 5 because it tried to do too much. Costuming got a 3.7 and staging a 3.0, and acting a 3.4.

One of the writers of "No Song No Poem" is a zen master. One of the methods of zen is to get you to let go of attachments and accept emptiness (a theme briefly touched upon at the end of the play) by shocking you out of the way you typically think. If the multiple beginnings, multiple stories, and whiplash back-and-forth scenes between gods and mortals were supposed to shock me into a new way of thinking, it was not successful. If that was the director's/playwrights' intents, it should have been clearer (let go, let go, let go of these attachments and illusions). Otherwise, the writers were being too zen and too postmodern for their own good.

This is an instance that proves the old adage, "You get what you pay for."

Rice to Riches - Experiencing Rice Pudding

2011-06-14T23:10:00.002+02:00

I have a confession. I want to be like Lindsey Galloway, who writes about staying in a beagle-shaped motel that was made by a guy who carves things with a chainsaw. In order to practice my writing skillz, I'm trying my hand at reviewing the things I see, try/taste, and do. Most of it is for fun, which is why I go off on many random tangents. Thanks for indulging me.

Because I live under a rock, I hadn't heard about Rice to Riches before going down to the SoHo-Nolito-East Village area of New York and actually walking past it on the street. Someone in our party of seven commented that it had been in a movie or two, like Hitch, and also that it was noted for its pudding. Note to self, I need to try Serendipity from Serendipity - almost went there with a friend to try their frozen hot chocolate.

Some spacebar-esque features.

Rice to Riches, if anything, is an experience. It was like eating at a spacebar, or at least what people from the 70s imagined a spacebar would be, complete with white, black, and "That 70s Show orange" plastic seating; the only thing it lacked was more chrome. There were four or five tables to sit at, and a standing bar that looked like two surfboards had been brought into the world as siamese twins. Four television screens made a column in the wall, and I felt like Derek Zoolander at the daiye spa when a bison frise' dog spun around on the screens. Certainly, the most memorable part of Rice to Riches is the atmosphere.

The rice pudding was pretty good, too. Like any good dessert shop, Rice to Riches lets you have endless taster spoons of their flavors. I tasted the Hazelnut Chocolate Bear Hug, and thought it good but heavy on the chocolate and hazelnut for a rice pudding. This could just be me, but the French toast was lighter, less bitter, and sweeter. My taste buds felt less like I was hit over the head with a brick.

Vicki and me eating our French toast rice pudding.

I got the French toast flavor to split with my friend Vicki, as did two of my other friends, and yet two of my friends got Mascarpone with cherries. However, there were four cups of rice pudding bought and shared among seven people; we got two Mascarpone with cherries and two French toast flavors. We may simply have similar tastes, or that could say something about the rice pudding and the quality and variety of their flavors.

My experience at Rice to Riches was pretty delightful overeall, but alas, it is not the best rice pudding I have ever had - unfortunately, there are no Pudd'n on the Rice joints or blueberry-white chocolate rice pudding to be had on this Coast.

I was, however, outrightly impressed with their sizes. A small cup worth $4 got me a palm-sized cup, and by splitting both the cost and the cup with Vicki, I ended up getting what I wanted for the price I was willing to pay. Also, the cups and spoons were made of edgy, spacebar like plastic; certainly modernity coming to your cutlery, because it was like a fashionized tongue-depresser. I also liked the fact that you could ask for tops and make your pudding boat-bowl into a little space capsule for safe transportation home.

The one major drawback to Rice to Riches was some of their decor. Most of it was clever and witty enough, but some of their signage did not sit well with me. They had a sign saying something on the order of "Man invented agriculture and rice pudding. Woman invented diet." They also had on their doors "No skinny bitches." I disagree with the message of these signs because they encourage an aesthetic based on image, rather than cultivating a healthy ideal, and placing blame on women instead of citing it as a broader societal ill which males and females both suffer from. They took the idea of having some rice pudding too far; a place like Rice to Riches sells a luxury commodity and should highlight the fact that it is a luxury, an indulgence, to come to a place like this, instead of encouraging an attitude which was borderline gluttonous. It is meant to be funny and lighthearted, but I was not very amused. And to top it all off, the message their decor is sending is exclusionary. Those "skinny bitches" need to have rice pudding, too - perhaps they need it most of all to put some meat on their bones.

Overall, out of five stars, Rice to Riches gets 3.8 stars for their food, 3.2 stars for their decoration, and 4.2 stars for their service. Were I in the area, I would certainly go for rice pudding again; if I had the especial hankering after rice pudding, I'd make a trip down to Nolito just to buy it from Rice to Riches.

Disclaimer: I might just be unsatisfied with everything because this is New York City, and I expect it to be absolutely delicious and am disappointed if it is not the best food I have ever eaten. My expectations are waaay too high. For a more balanced and evenhanded review, and frankly some better pictures, check out the Eatconomist's review.

Tasting New York in Lombardi's Pizza

2011-06-14T23:00:00.002+02:00

For Kristen. See? I told you, you general pool of readers, that I would take suggestions on what to do and see so you could vicariously live through me.

Lombardi's - the name inspires interests, piques curiosity. It smacks of an Italian-American heritage, someplace far away from my Midtown abode. A place worth a journey.

Seven of us journeyed from Times Square on Saturday down to Lombardi's to try some of its best-in-New York pizza. Arriving at the corner restaurant, there was a line seven or eight people deep, and I hunkered down for a long wait, I surmised at least 30 minutes. To my surprise, thirty seconds later we were called, and all seven of us sat down at one table to await our Lombardi's delight.

We ordered a large margarita and a large spinach-garlic pizza, and after a short wait we delved right in. The crust was nice and flavorful, and easy to manipulate and fold so you could fit it all into your mouth. I noticed, most of all, that it tasted healthy - it was not too greasy, the cheese on the margarita pizza tasted light and fresh. It was tasty, but my Lombardi's pizza felt like I was eating any other pizza. The taste did not grab me by the taste buds and say "Listen, Lizzle, you are eating a Lombardi's pizza. Pay attention or I'm gonna slap you down to Brooklyn!"

Akshata and me at Lombardi's - stay tuned for "Rice to Riches" to see round 2 of the crazy-happy-I'm-going-to-be-eating-soon mouth gap.

I was impressed, though, with the speed and quality of service: our waitress was prompt but not pushy and very smiley for one of the most lauded pizza joints in town. Almost too impressive was the bussing service: as soon as we had finished the last slice of pizza, the try was gone; as soon as we stood up to leave, someone was clearing our napkins and glasses. And I don't blame them; they wanted to get people in and out, so they economized and made themselves efficient.

Overall, out of five stars, I give Lombardi's 4.1 for food quality, 4.5 for service, and 3.9 for atmosphere. If I had a similar wait time and was in the SoHo-East Village-Nolito area (still getting my bearings), I would probably go again. But as for best pizza in town? Their claim was too big. It was a good deal for this kind of pizza - I ended up paying about $8 for two slices. Note to self, I need to try that $0.99-a-slice pizza that I walked past earlier this evening and compare it.At "Taste of Times Square" last week, the pizza I had from one of the stalls (possibly John's Pizzeria?) was cheesier, greasier, tastier, kickier. Better. It was good, but I couldn't taste New York in this pizza.

This might not be the final review of Lombardi's pizza; with more pizza under my belt (actually above it), my opinions may change. Not likely, but they may change. Stay tuned for what's around the corner.

I Can't Remember What I've Done

2011-06-13T23:00:00.000+02:00

Um, social events like dinner parties and dessert parties have happened, going down to the Strand and unfortunately not meeting Melody and Vicki or Simon Pegg, picnic in Central Park, and doing laundry tonight. (And going to bed early! And finishing Emma before the week is over!)

I still need to post about going to Lombardi's and Rice to Riches on Saturday before I forget my mental notes. And about being happy as opposed to having feelings projected upon me because I feel like I'm having the experiences I'm supposed to have.

This City is exhausting. I can't get enough of it - or so I think right now. Check back later.

"Jazz Chat" Saturday: AMNH and Times Square

2011-06-11T23:00:00.000+02:00

Here is a late night "Jazz Chat," a time to catch up with a friend on a Friday (shamelessly taken from Hamish and Andy). However, since it is not Friday, the music I suggest you listen to while reading the post is not jazz, and I'm telling you what I did instead of engaging you in conversation, the term "Jazz Chat" is entirely a misnomer.

Yesterday, I met with a friend at the American Museum of Natural History. Our visit was so good for so many reasons, because we got to talk and swap ideas more than anything else. Due to a few mishaps using public transportation, we both arrived late, so our tour of the museum was curtailed, but we got in a good number of dioramas. The AMNH could be synonymous with diorama-rama. Oh ho ho ho, I'm sure that joke hasn't been made before.

Apart from being made of taxidermied animals, the dioramas were well-done and informative. The plaques on either side of the frame, though, made for some confusion; if I wanted to know about the bongo, I might have skimmed the plaque on the right side of the exhibit, learning briefly about the plants and perhaps a small mammal in the exhibit, while the information I wanted was on the other side. (Not a major qualm.) The dioramas helped me re-appreciate the biodiversity on our planet, yet still keeping in mind how related we are. Good times.

And today, I met up with some other friends in Times Square. It was about noon and we needed some lunch, so we headed down to SoHo for some Lombardi's, famous for being the best pizza in New York, and grabbed some rice pudding at Rice to Riches; reviews to come. SoHo was certainly a different part of the city; the highest buildings were possibly six or seven floors high, and I felt like I was stepping back in time to the turn of the 20th Century - yet somehow with all of modern convenience. It's energy was slower, a bit more upbeat, but more gentrified than the bohemian it once was.

After filling ourselves sufficiently with tasty food, we hopped on the subway and made our way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I did not get to see Alexander McQueen's "Savage Beauty" exhibit, but did go to some old favorites like the Temple of Dendur of the statue of Diana in the American Wing. I wandered into the furniture and Mesoamerican sections, and afterwards went to the Pacific Islander exhibition for the first time. I was struck by how recently made many of those artefacts are, and how fragile they seem. People may have been creating art like that for thousands of years, but we don't know about them because such pieces couldn't survive that long.

I was also struck by the need for humans to create. There was a bark painting which caught my eyes; the caption talked about aboriginal myths of "the Dreaming" when bird-men walked and created the earth and all things in it. "The Dreaming" gives me chills; it recalls the thought process of creation which humans follow with connotations of subconsciousness, timelessness. Potential.

Anyway, the bark painting, especially, made me think of creation and this urge humans have to create, to make things, to made abstractions and think, no matter where they are or what time period they live in, whether it's a pot from 6000 years ago or a blog post, and everything in between. More thoughts and tentative conclusions to come later.

I Love Food Trucks

2011-06-09T23:20:00.001+02:00

I fess up about food trucks. Here in the City, they dot virtually every street corner. Most of them are fairly generic halal-type trucks or stands, but every now and then something special comes up. For example, the other day I saw the Mexicue truck, which was exciting to me as a NYC newbie because it was different from all the other carts: it was larger, red, and had a line 15 people deep. I've tasted the delights of a Mr Softee truck, and earlier today I had my first waffle from Wafel and Dinges. I've already set my sights on finding the Dumpling Rickshaw truck, regardless of their quality of food. It's safe to say I'm addicted to food trucks.

The food is usually pretty good from these trucks, but the real fun of it lies in their effervescent nature. They're on wheels, they're mobile. One day the Mexicue truck could be there, the next, it could be gone for a week, popping up on the other side of town where you didn't expect it.

The food truck concept is genius because it is essentially a massive game of hide-and-go-seek, only with food as the reward. (I suppose that's what hunting is...) Like my friend TropeGirl's Youtube video states, it adds the extra incentive of prestige - finding the food truck and attached bragging rights - to the reward of eating reasonably tasty food for a low(er) price. Genius.

We have food trucks in Los Angeles, and they're good when you hap upon them, but Los Angeles is such a sprawling city. There's not one on every street corner, to my limited knowledge. I know finding them is as easy as merely punching in the food truck's location, driving to it, and finding parking, but I'm in an LA suburb and getting into downtown is a bit of a trek. For here and now, I prefer the food trucks here in NYC.

I am aware these food trucks have Twitter accounts which tell you where they're going to be. To be a hardcore food-truck-hide-and-go-seeker, you find the food trucks without Twitter.

Sharing is Caring III

2011-06-09T23:10:00.001+02:00

When I was looking up speculoos, I came across an article on most useless kitchen tools. I thought it was amusing (but actually it is not a must-read article, I was simply too eager to think about useless kitchen things), because it is true that useless products are created and bought every Christmas/birthday/Mother's Day.

I, myself, have purchased a spoon rest. It's not that useless... although to save myself the trouble of having to clean said spoon rest, I usually just put the spoon on the counter.

Another Concert in the Park

2011-06-09T23:05:00.001+02:00

Or an attempted one, anyway.

Whilst at work, my sister emailed me about an extra ticket to a Black-Eyed Peas concert happening in Central Park later in the evening. No one else in her acquaintance had jumped on it yet, so I did. Whoo, I had something to do in the evening! I was getting nervous that I wouldn't have something to write home about tonight.

After I ate my dumplings, I met my sister at her office, and we made our way to Central Park together. We came out of the subway station and were awash in people, all trying to get into the Park. My knee-jerk reaction was to turn tail and head home; it wouldn't be worth fighting all the crowds. However, I steeled myself and figured this was New York City. There are crowds. Deal with it, self. Tickets to this concert were done by free raffle, so there were bound to be loads of people. And besides, you're a student in a very expensive city - standing in lines for free things is the experience. Ooh, memo to self: write editorial post on these kinds of experiences and feeling happy that I'm having these experiences because I ought to have them instead of enjoying them for their own intrinsic value.

As we were standing in line to get into the Park, the heavy, humid clouds gave off a flash of lightning. The crowd said "aah" in its usual mindset of "entertain me" and "everything is a spectacle." It was at this point that it started to rain. Umbrellas up (my sister had advised me to bring two), and we started to mosey forward like a bunch of cattle wielding pokers. It's a mild feat to walk forward while keeping of track of someone as you hold an umbrella and avoid poking multiple people's eyes out, mind you.

In our cumbrous fashion, we moved forward until it really started to rain. At this time, it was about 8 p.m.; the concert had been scheduled to start at 7:30 p.m., but it had been delayed for rain. One member of our party had cancelled on us, and the other member was AWOL. Well, the cry went through the crowd that the event was cancelled; a woman standing near us confirmed the fact by looking at the concert's Facebook page.

We were, in a sense, quite washed up.

To avoid the crowds coming home, we started heading home. Walking in a summer rain, even in New York City, is enjoyable, and we walked all the way home. We stopped about every ten minutes for a photo opportunity, to talk to someone (on phone, and actually my sister ran into someone she knew outside of FAO Schwartz), to eat waffles with spekuloos from the Waffles & Dinges food truck, or to take grungy photos of ourselves eating food outside of posh stores. It continued to rain sporadically, the heat was still oppressive, but the pavement was awash in bejeweled light, spilling from every building side and lamp onto the pavement.

Like Edinburgh, New York City has its own type of starlight.

Rickshaw Dumplings Obtained!

2011-06-09T23:00:00.000+02:00

I was coming home from my internship, and due to this evening's plans, I needed to get dinner to go. Lo and behold, I had something ready and lined up: Rickshaw Dumpling! I eagerly made my way across the streets, a clear destination guiding me from Grand Central Station across Lexington like a beacon of red-and-white striped goodness, the promise of dumplings sweet and heavy in the oppressively humid air.

I arrived, and to my delight, no one was in front of me, and there were five people ready to take my order. I am a fan and budding connoisseur of duck, so I ordered the duck dumplings and some spicy noodles on the side. Five minutes later, I was out the door again with my brown bag filled with my spoils, and another few minutes brought me to the apartment. A few more moments brought the dumplings to my mouth.

I stuffed the first dumpling into my mouth and munched away. Then kept on munching more slowly. The meat wasn't very tender, nor was it very flavorful. Everywhere I read about stars (like Ira Glass) saying how much they love New York's food and how they eat like kings; though I have paid a pretty penny, I was not eating like a king. Disappointed was I in my Rickshaw dumplings. Maybe I shouldn't have the ordered the duck but stuck with a solid classic like their pork. And their spicy noodles were a bit too spicy, but I shouldn't complain about that because I knew what I was getting into.

Despite this disappointment, I'll still go with my co-intern to find the Rickshaw Dumpling truck tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is National Iced Tea Day, and the Dumpling truck (if not all trucks and restaurants) is giving away free Snapple.

Vicarious Living, Part I

2011-06-07T23:30:00.000+02:00

I have received my first request for something to do in the City! Cousinling Kristen has requested that I go to Lombardi's for pizza on Spring Street (just a hop-skip-jump from the Line 6 subway!). It has been touted as the "absolute best pizza in NYC" by a friend of my cousinling. I'll give it a go! If it's not mind-bogglingly expensive, anyway. I am still a student, and since the address does not appear to be a numerical street, it's probably in a very fashion-conscious, flavor-conscious part of town.

It should be noted that I my sampling of pizza is and will be limited, as New York is home to over 9 million people, and there are countless pizza places to serve all of them.

Not that it has anything to do with pizza in New York, but the best pizza I've ever tasted came from this little Italian place in Madrid just off Sol. My Italian co-worker invited a few of us to come along with her, and she approved it as one of the few places to get a real Italian pizza in the city. Being Italian, she spoke to the chef/owner in Italian and became one of his bosom buddies because of their shared nationality. She ordered me a specialty pizza, topped with American sausage, extra tomato sauce, and some really good cheese I can't recall the name of. It's been nearly a year since I had that pizza; it made an impression on me.

P.S. I have a new goal in life: ingratiate myself into a (real, not a 5th generation pseudo Italian-American) Italian family.

The Search for Rickshaw Dumplings and Yo Yo Ma

2011-06-07T23:00:00.002+02:00

Oof, it has been a busy day.

My second day of work was very good, and I'm starting to get into the swing of things. If I haven't mentioned it before, I'm working with another intern, and we pal around a bit. We got lunch together yesterday and today; both days we have looked for the mysterious food truck, the Dumpling Rickshaw. It is a most elusive food truck, with supposedly magical properties in the taste of their dumplings. No luck yet.

The other big interesting thing was that New York's Summer Stage series kicked off this evening with a concert in the Park by Yo Yo Ma. This was something I had been looking forward to for several weeks, ever since finding out that I was going to be in New York City for the summer. The concert started ridiculously early (6:30 p.m.), which meant that, if I were to get out of work on time (which I have yet to do), that I had half an hour before the concert started. I am perpetually late, and I don't know my way around public transportation yet; it is a bad combination to have when time is of the essence. And when I'm pressed for time, I don't make necessary preparations, like finding out which subway stop I want. There will be a map around, right? Or some pamphlets I can take and peruse on my journey?

No. The station where I got on my train had neither map nor pamphlets; however, the next stop did, and I saw a guy standing in front of a nice map in a glass case in the middle of the platform. Oh, his bearings were being gotten, while my bearings were still all befuddled-like. I noticed this as the train pulled away from the stop.

I'll skip over the embarrassing details of getting on an express train and missing my stop, taking a local train back, and then mistakenly getting off one stop too early. I did, however, make a subway buddy who was also going to the concert, which is something one normally does not do, I feel.

Subway buddy and I had a brisk jaunt through Central Park, and when we got to the Summer Stage at about 7 p.m., the amphitheater was closed because they had reached capacity. We were turned away and stood behind the amphitheater, catching some of the sound waves.

What I heard painted pictures on the inside of my head. Mr. Ma was playing with the Silk Road Ensemble, and it was like being transported to the Yellow River, with the Chinese watercolor paintings at the beginning of Mulan in the background. I would wax more eloquent right now if I had the time and mental energy.

Overall, my experience of the concert was patchwork; I arrived late, could see nothing of the ensemble, wandered away from the concert and back again in fruitless attempts to get closer to the music, and ended up leaving a few minutes early. In contemplating my experience, I would not have it any other way. I got to hear it, at least, which is enough. The concert showcased a lot of children from various schools around the city, weaving narratives and songs together which were well-suited to an audience with children (though I could have done without the song to the tune of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star") - I probably would not have wanted to stay for the entire thing anyway. I could only catch some of it, but you could tell when Mr. Ma was playing - he made you sit up and listen to his music, compelled you to follow him as he took your consciousness through the notes and made musical connections appear in your very visual cortex.

By this time, subway buddy had a large incentive to see Mr. Ma in person, and so left me to try and finagle her way in. I was happy to sit outside the amphitheater, just listening. Sitting and listening was enough for me; it was like sitting outside heaven's door (yes, as described by the song by Lifehouse, may I live in eternal infamy) just to be in the presence of a master musician of a master instrument.

Again, all in all, another good day in New York City. Except this humidity might kill me.

First Day at the Office! And a Taste of Times Square!

2011-06-06T22:00:00.002+02:00

I had my first day of work! My sister got out bright and early this morning, or at least by New York standards, and I was left up to myself to figure out what I wanted to wear and freak out. The time rolled around for me to leave the apartment, and once I did so, things were so much better. As long as I am occupied or directing my energy towards something, my nerves don't work so hard on me.

I get to the building, which I was already familiar with because I had walked to it last night. (NB It looks like a tiered wedding cake, complete with three layers.) I followed the directions on how to enter, whom to call, which floor to take, etc, and found myself in a gigantic, open office, filled with loads of natural light, nary a cubicle in sight, and decorated in a very chic, modern manner: the reception area was a polished cement floor like one you might find in Urban Outfitters, and space in it was covered with a limish green shag rug. The light fixtures are white, the desks are white, the cupboards are white, but where there is color, they don't tread with trepidation: splashes of muted lime green, pink, yellow. A place to foster creativity, imagination, and teamwork, indeed. My desk is out in the boonies, but I don't mind; it's a little quieter than in the center of the office.

I won't spend too long on my first day, but it started off on the right foot. (The optimistic cynic in me thinks it can only go downhill because it was that good of a first day. If I'm wrong, I'll be pleasantly surprised - one of my favorite feelings.) I think I'll get along well enough with my fellow intern - who coincidentally grew up in the same Home I did - and my supervisor and her co-worker are really nice. Things are looking good, indeed, and the work interests me. It's not something I would want to do forever, but I'm content doing it as an intern for a summer.

After work, I took some time and made a call, and then I went with a group from my Church (part of FHE, whoo!) to "A Taste of Times Square." Essentially, restaurants with locations on Times Square set up tables in the street and sell you food for a few tickets. Amongst the delicacies available, I tasted some real beer-battered fish and chips from St. Andrew's Pub, some pizza (can't remember the vendor), and some sirloin tip possibly from Shuler. And some cheesecake at the very end. But best of all, I got to wander around and get to know some people better.

All in all, a successful day.

First Weekend in the Big Apple

2011-06-05T20:00:00.002+02:00

I have arrived! And it's been quite the weekend so far, with a bit more yet to come. Right now I have a moment to myself in order to collect my thoughts and chronicle/share a few of them with all 24 (whoohoo, count 'em!) of you followers.

After an uneventful flight, I arrived at JFK International Airport Friday evening to start my big summer in the big city. I shuffled off, hit with a wave of humid air, feeling like this was my time and my city. I tried not to get too far ahead of myself, as I still had baggage to collect. I've been to New York before, and each time I've been in JFK, but it didn't feel familiar, and my stomach was still filled with butterflies as to what I was going to be doing this summer, where I was living, whom I would meet. I was at the tip of the iceberg of the unknown, and I was here, no turning back. I grabbed my bags, got a taxi, and told the driver the coordinates for where I'll be staying: Manhattan.

Driving onto the island, I couldn't help but thinking of Madrid. Touching down, I thought of my first few minutes in that fine Spanish city: how sparse and desert-like the surrounding area was (think the interior of California). I was struck by how all the buildings seemed to be of the same red-and-tan brick design. Indeed, I saw some apartment buildings which looked like those in Spain, but they were several among dozens and dozens of buildings. And of course, touching down, we flew over the bay and some beach and green trees. Nothing like Madrid whatsoever.

The traffic into the city reminded me a bit of Los Angeles, and a specific trip to L.A. I took with my volleyball team when I was 15 - a lot of slow traffic traveling beneath what I assumed to be an Air-link train. I was suddenly homesick for the familiarity of Los Angeles, and the tree-lined streets of my suburban College Town (really, the rest of L.A. isn't that great...), and the people and places I knew back there. As quickly as it had come, the homesickness settled down, to be replaced by excitement as I saw the buildings of Manhattan rising up.

I got to my living arrangements and was greeted by my wonderful sister (I'll be staying with her the rest of the summer) as I ungainfully tried to open the apartment door. I threw down my stuff, we made a lovely little dinner together and dined on her balcony, surrounded by several of her little shrubs. There is no better antidote to fear and trepidation than food and family, I thought as I nestled back into the patio chair I was sitting in. I had all the opportunities of the city open before my feet. Needless to say, I was suddenly very happy and all my cares were wiped away, safe and sound as I was with my sister.

Me in Grand Central Terminal! I feel like I'm part of a greater history of New York and America every time I go inside that hall. Which has only been once so far, but that will change.

After dinner and a little unpacking, we took a little walk around so I could get my bearings. Walking near the UN and into Grand Central Station were included! (Note: still have not gotten my bearings yet. Figured out that the bigger the numbers on your cross streets are, the more north and west you are. Mostly I walk around an area until I figure out which way I want to go - took a lot of time getting out of Grand Central today because I ended up on the opposite side of where I wanted to go. Still like mountains to tell me my cardinal directions.)

In the morning, I met my sister at the Lexington and 51st subway stop in order to meet up with some of her friends and take the tram over to see Roosevelt Island. If you've never heard of this island, do not worry: there is a reason you haven't. It's mostly residential, and (according to the people I was with) oddly suburban for Manhattan. There were plenty of parks where small children were playing a rousing game of baseball late on a Saturday morning, people gathering for picnics, and people gardening. Indeed, gardening. We stumbled upon the Octagon Garden of Roosevelt Island, and it was quite magical because it not only contained a Rose Garden, but members of the Garden Club tended their own plots. That took me by surprise in such an urban city like New York.

Octagon's Rose Garden

Lighthouse on Roosevelt Island

A little more walking took us to the lighthouse in memory of Vicki Holland (who apparently had polio, moved to Roosevelt Island, and helped make apartments more user-friendly to people who had disabilities due in particular to polio, according to this writeup). By this time, we reached the northern tip of the island, and so decided to head back, stopping for some ice cream on the way back.

I went back to the apartment and did some grocery shopping, took a nap, and made myself dinner before receiving a text from my sister to go see the new Woody Allen movie, Midnight in Paris. I met up with her and several of her friends, saw the movie, and at about 1 a.m. decided to go karaoke-ing with one of the friends who had seen the movie. Karaoke at 1 a.m.? Good choice, especially since it was a block and a half from the apartment.

In the morning, I baked a cake for a dinner party I was attending later that evening. I went to church, where again I met up with my sister, met more people, and in general had a nice, fulfilling time. We went to our dinner group, where I got to meet more people in-depth, have good food, and see a bit more of the city.

Sigh, now I'm going to go and see where my office is so that I don't freak out and miss it and be late tomorrow - eep. My status right now is nervous restlessness, and I am hopeful that being somewhat nervous and wishing to do well will lead to good results; but I've been trying not to think about it too much or too long, because then I will start freaking out, and freaking out is not conducive to producing good work. Wish me luck!

I'm looking forward to Monday and Tuesday, to say the least - aside from actually getting started in my internship, I'm planning on going to "A Taste of Times Square" (cheap food in the big tourist attraction!) and Yo-Yo Ma in Central Park (free world-class classical music? Yes, please!).

Seriously, I feel very blessed by the people and opportunities in my life right now :)

Preparing...

2011-06-01T17:00:00.001+02:00

I've been thinking I should spend more time with the blog, and so I'll just give a quick update on my preparations for summer.

I've started packing, and I've purchased a few more sundry items which I am hopeful will make me look presentable in the office. I have a game plan for how I'm going to get to my living arrangements (taxi!), and surprisingly already have dinner engagements for Saturday and Sunday nights, thanks to my shveet sister. As to preparing for the internship, I'm casually reading magazines, blogs, and official webpages which pertain to the stuff I'll be working on.

My status?

Although my exterior is calm, on the interior I am like an unraveling ball of twine. I should be working my tail off preparing for this internship, but then so much of what I'm going to do and the people I'll work with are unknown to me, and I'll have to learn a lot on my feet. It will all work itself out, I'm sure, and everything will be like a peachy king.

So why worry?

Just can't help it.

In order to combat my anxiety about the unknown, I've been doing a lot of things to distract myself: hang out with friends, read, garden, cook, watch movies/old TV shows, (ending up spending way too much time on Facebook). And I'm not even consistent in my distractions: I let myself get distracted by something else, so that I end up spending a little time on a lot of different projects without finishing anything. So all those books that I thought I'd read, poems I'd write, and paintings I'd work on while I was home during the break have been floundering in partial neglect...

Oh well. At least I've started the old BSG - without a chance of finishing it in the foreseeable future: another thing that I started and have not finished. Felgercarb.

Sharing is Caring II

2011-05-23T23:00:00.000+02:00

Blogs are a wonderful place to share things, which is why I want to share this. It's a set of 21 questions for Ira Glass, host of "This American Life." I don't listen to "This American Life" because it is not on at a time when I listen to the radio, and the podcast costs money (not cool). But Mr. Glass seems like a pretty cool cat; he does indeed make life fascinatinger. I'm going to take a leaf from his book and say I want to make things more imaginativular. I'd like to make things fascinatinger, but more imaginativular is okay, too.

Happy life, everyone.

Wasn't That Fun? Let's Do It Again

2011-05-16T23:00:00.000+02:00

The wheel of time has come full circle. It has been a year since I started my adventures in Spain then Scotland, and now, my adventures are starting up again! The "being stateside" prognostication for what would be happening to me in the vaguely looming future came true: this summer, adventures will be had in New York City. It's not being abroad, this is true, but it will still be a new experience, and one I'm very much looking forward to having in the comfort of my own country this time.

This summer is going to be a fantastic one for multiple reasons. Let me enumerate them below with a lovely list of bullet points.

I'm going to be staying with my sister!!! It will be the first time in a good ten years since we lived together. I've grown up in that time, so this will be an opportunity for us really to get to know each other as adults.
I have a really phenomenal internship opportunity, doing interesting work with interesting people. Because this is meant to be a personal blog, I will refer to the company only occasionally and as "Company X." But take my word for it, this is pretty amazing. I might revise the statement I just made and drop as many annoying hints as I can to what it is without actually revealing what I'm doing.
I'm looking forward to the contacts and community which I will make in the City. One of the things I have loved about being LDS (I'm LDS, also known as Mormon, by the way) is the instant community which is available no matter where I go. It has been incredibly important to me over the past year because my life has been a picture of change. Three new cities and two familiar ones in fifteen months means I have practically been a nomad. And in every new geographical place, I've found a social place at Church. Apart from Mormons, I'll have a community of people from my high school and College there, so lots will keep me occupied.
And lastly, and the majority of what I'll be writing about, is the activities I'll do while living in the City! From watching Shakespeare in the Park to going to the Lincoln Center for Shakespeare, seeing the odd Broadway Play (read: "Book of Mormon Musical"), going to Restaurant week, going to the Botanical Gardens, Coney Island, concerts in Central Park, the Metropolitan, cannellonis (yes, it should count under "food" and/or "restaurant week," but they're so good they deserve their own category. May be expanded to include "Italian food" because I want to make my second home in Little Italy), to perhaps a Mets game and even some Scottish dancing.

Now, I'm still at home in a transitional, incubatory state, prepping for my time in the City, avoiding prepping for next year and thesis, and recuperating from saying my goodbyes to College people.

If you've just joined 'les aventures' here at spoony driftwood, welcome aboard! To all those who are returning, glad to have you back and also glad to know that I didn't scare you away with poor writing or random thoughts. Thanks for reading! If anyone has any suggestions for things to do in New York, don't hesitate to tell me, or tell me what to check out in the city so I may be your proxy.

"Get In Mah Belly!"

2011-04-09T23:00:00.000+02:00

The belly is a very important thing which, until now, has largely been neglected in my life. I knew that it was a source of energy and strength - I have done enough planks and crunches - but today I have learned that it deserves to be taken care of.

"Remember that... you bathed bare-bellied" -- Monique Wittig

Life is Pretty Perfect Sometimes

2011-04-08T23:00:00.000+02:00

Perhaps I'm not a late-bloomer after all, perhaps I simply live my life out of order. I've had some experiences (like living abroad!) that some people never get to have, or that they might have later in life. Other things, like things you're expected to do when I teenager, I never felt the compulsion to do. Some of them I'm doing now; others I haven't quite gotten to yet.

I feel that at this moment in my life, I am very happy. It's not a new sentiment; ever since coming back home, I've been pretty consistently happy. I won't go into specifics, but it's the little things. Such as finally figuring out what I think, who I am, and liking myself and being my own best friend. Okay, those might be pretty major things.

Other small things might include routine objects and how those objects are perceived. Like having mint-flavored dental floss. It's a little luxury. Or having someone say your name out loud when they greet you.

You'd Think This Were a Tumble Blog V

2011-04-04T06:25:00.000+02:00

"His excellent common sense, however, soon asserted itself, and his sound, practical mind did not leave him long in doubt about what to do. Poison having proved a complete failure, dynamite, or some other form of explosive, was obviously the proper thing to try."

--Oscar Wilde, "Lord Arthur Savile's Crime"

I am Master

2011-03-27T18:00:00.000+02:00

I have been a little tired as of late. After church and dinner, I came back and crashed on my bed for a few moments. It was like catching my breath. I realize that I have so very far from where I was two years ago. However, I still have a very long way to go in accomplishing my goals.

But I'm figuring out how to play this game. I might be a late bloomer, but I'm figuring it out.

It puts me in mind of William Ernest Henley's last couplet of "Invictus":

"I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul."

This is Just to Say

2011-03-25T23:00:00.000+01:00

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold.

--William Carlos Williams

These lines, these mere fragments, bring me to my knees.

'Twas A Night Not Unlike This...

2011-03-15T23:00:00.001+01:00

That I sat at the head of my kitchen table, searching for something to do this summer. I remember guffawing at a media/"publishing" internship that I had found on some internship search engine - it was in Madrid, Spain. It was late at night, it felt like I had been searching and applying all day for internships. My mother was at the other end of the table, and I told her I was going to apply to this internship for kicks and giggles. She encouraged me; it was a long shot, there was no way I was going to get it, and I was mildly intoxicated with the idea of merely applying for something so exotic and foreign.

Little did I know...

So that's the beginning of how I ended up in Spain last summer. There were a few emails and an interview and lots of nervous expectations. Perhaps this is also the beginning of next summer's story. I'm sitting at the kitchen table again, by myself (obviously blogging, which means I'm not working on/sending out my resume). I have a pretty strong feeling that I found last summer's internship on a Tuesday - of Spring Break, no less. Lo and behold, it is the Tuesday of Spring Break.

Subconsciously, I hope I will find a place to intern at this summer, but because I have articulated such a desire and pointed out the happenings and their timings, the universe will not work out that way. Perhaps it (and by "it," I really mean God) has something even better planned for me.

If not, all of these companies should know what they're missing out on - someone who is pretty spectacular, who is a worker, a good worker, a hard worker.

Photo from roy.tabulas.com.

You'd Think This Were a Tumble Blog IV

2011-03-14T06:49:00.001+01:00

"But in reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself. Like the night sky in the Greek poem, I see with a myriad eyes, but it is still I who see. Here, as in worship, in love, in moral action, and in knowing, I transcend myself; and am never more myself than when I do." -- C.S. Lewis

It may not be finals, but it is internship-searching time. The levels of pain both of these processes induce is comparable.

"Settling Back Into the Egyptian Night..."

2011-03-04T10:24:00.000+01:00

At the beginning of the semester, I had so much energy and was thrilled about everything. But now, the magic of Scotland and being back on my home campus has faded, and I'm left with work and obligations and fatigue. This week must have really tuckered me out. The social skills that I thought I had gained are receding as my hermit-nature begins to reassert itself. I am still happy, just not incandescently so.

It is late. Life is still very, very good - I wandered about the campuses tonight with two friends of mine. We paused at the Skyspace for a little bit, and it was so peaceful.

Nothing very exciting to report tonight, other than that I was able to upload a picture. (That's really the reason for this blog post. I had nothing much to say, which is why it is so fluffy.) It's by one of my favorite photographers, Robert ParkeHarrison. Sadly, I do not know the title. If you can learn to take photographs like him, mimic how calming and yet unsettling he can make them, then you will have my respect. Look at the way the tree branches reach over to the sitting man, intersecting the planes of the doors. And the door is opening into a greener, revitalizing world. It is hopeful - not too hopeful, but just enough to keep on going.

Robert ParkeHarrison

It makes me feel dimly like crying, like an arcane feeling welling up inside of me. I used to cry so easily.

Love Love Love

2011-02-17T08:44:00.000+01:00

"I am an emotional, devotional,
incandotional, creature.
And I love, hear me,
love love love
being a girl."

- Eva Ensler, I Am An Emotional Creature

"Incandontional." What a wonderful, whimsical, playful, poignant word.

Miffed

2011-02-17T07:45:00.001+01:00

I'm miffed. I have run out of free space for photos on this blog. I think something tricky has gone down with my account. There is no way I'm going to pay for photos on my blog, so it's going to be a bit of time before I figure out how to get photos up again. But it will happen.

There is Bollywood Music: Revisited

2011-02-08T03:50:00.000+01:00

I think my feelings are such that they cannot be contained and expressed by the soundtracks of Bollywood films, as they have been wont to do in the past. I'm so happy, the ideas and images Bollywood music presents to me seem shabby and worn-out.

I don't think life can get any better. Where I am, right now, is perfect. It is perfect in a way that is imperfect; conversely, the imperfections are what make it truly perfect. I miss my friends from Edinburgh, I miss being in Spain, but the emptiness left in me by being abroad is of such a delicious ilk that I cannot but help enjoy it. The separation I feel lets me know that I am alive, gives poignancy and depth to my happiness, solidifying it. I have my hopes and dreams, still, and now even more of them, and they're spiraling outwards and forwards.

My eye has been pronounced "healed," I was cast in a production of "A Midsummer Night's Dream," I don't have to be alone unless I want it. I talked briefly with one of my favorite professors today in the dining hall about my experiences abroad and thesis - he said I should drop by office hours to talk more! I want him to be my thesis advisor and first reader, and I think this could be my opportunity to ask him about it!

I'm so happy, I almost can't contain my joy. So much of it is due to my religion, I feel. Thanks, Heavenly Father. Happy is what we're meant to be in this life, and even more so in the life to come - but I can't imagine being any more happy than I am right now.

Response: We Have a Problem

2011-02-05T00:24:00.004+01:00

I have an inherent tension within me which only becomes more pronounced late at night. (Can you take a hint as to when I'm writing this?) I want to be of both proverbial "camps", both parties, both sides. I endorse what I just stated in "We Have a Problem," but I also believe that everyone should have their say, and that things are not perfect, but we should do our best to try and make it perfect anyway. What we term "perfection" today may be obsolete by tomorrow because our societal morals and intellectual fashions are constantly shifting.

Sometimes, you should not just shut up and watch the movie. You should incite your fellow movie-goers to riot in a popcorn-filled frenzy, spilling over the faux red velvet seats into the projection room. You should stop the film, being sure to preserve it carefully for posterity and future study in a gigantic underground archival vault, and then you should make your own movie which does a mediocre job at the Sundance Film Festival. After so much time and effort, you become disillusioned and then work as a river guide at Disneyland's Jungle Adventure ride to find solace, meaning, and personal connection in your life which you're not sure actually exist. The only thing you believe in anymore is Mickey Mouse; he is real. Consequently, the movie you didn't just shut up and watch in the first place was Steamboat Willie.

I'm not sure if I believe what I just wrote in the above paragraph. Your actions made no impact whatsoever. Switching to me and my narrative, I'm a dog chasing my tail - and I feel like I'm in good company with a lot of professors and intellectuals whose arguments are brilliant and well-articulated, but what's the overall point if you don't move anywhere?

My life could be an absurdist play. That is it; I'm living in a creation of Jean-Paul Sartre, who is in turn a creation of that little animator who sits at the corner desk in the back room under a fluorescent light, doodling on cardboard with a felt pen and mimicking the wails of Welsh alarm clocks.

This is a shovel. It is on top of a car.

We Have a Problem...

2011-02-05T00:06:00.000+01:00

I hate the word "problematic." I hate it almost as much as I hate pigeons (those dirty, disease-carrying, stupid, inbred balls of flying feathers). It is an incredibly useful word, but its usefulness contributes to its downfall. It is often used to describe and classify situations that are not ideal. However, it seems that "problematic" is applied to a situation in order to end the conversation about said topic while still having the last word, sounding educated, liberal, and dissatisfied without doing anything about it.

"Problematic" is applied all too liberally; everything, it seems, is problematic (although I believe there is some truth in this statement). I believe that nothing is perfect. There is room for improvement in a lot of things. However, that should not keep us from enjoying what we have and what we have access to.

Oh dear, I was far too general in my statements. Now I sound like an idiot crying in the dusty darkness. But even for all my vague statements and generalizations, sometimes people just need to shut up and watch the movie.

2011-02-04T17:00:00.000+01:00

Life is pretty perfect sometimes. It always has been, and it always will be, in different ways. But never quite like this.

I'm back at college, as I believe I have said before, and things are moving forward. I feel like a new person, moving forward with renewed vigor, new interests, new life, while still retaining where I have been. Indeed, it has shaped me profoundly.

Some things I did:

You'd Think This Were a Tumble Blog III

2011-01-29T07:18:00.000+01:00

"What we are losing, ever seems to us the most precious." - Matthew Lewis, The Monk

This is a truth. This expresses much of what I felt the last month or so I was in Scotland.

I'm So Back at School...

2011-01-20T02:46:00.000+01:00

"Only in the sphere of art, Cassirer maintains, does the opposition between image and meaning become resolved, for only in the aesthetic consciousness is the image recognized as such." -- David Bidney, 'Myth, Symbolism, and Truth'

A Quote Worthwhile

2011-01-08T23:15:00.001+01:00

“The safety of the world depends on your saying ‘no’ to inhumane ideas. Standing up for one’s own integrity makes you no friends. It is costly. Yet defiance of the mob, in the service of that which is right, is one of the highest expressions of courage I know.”

- Gabrielle Giffords

Thoughts and prayers to Ms. Giffords, all those injured in today's incidents, and their families. May she pull through.

The Nature of Evil

2011-01-08T23:00:00.000+01:00

"The members of the congregation belonged to the Ibo tribe, and the traditional religion o the Ibo, like that of the majority of African communities, does not know the concept of sin. The African belief system has a radically different understanding of guilt from that espoused by Christian theology. In Africa, the notion of metaphysical, abstract evil - evil in and of itself - does not exist. A deed first becomes evil when it is discovered, and, second, when the community or the individual declares it to be evil. Moreover, the criterion here is not axiomatic, but practical, concrete: that which does harm to others is evil. Evil intentions do not exist, because evil is not evil until it materializes, assumes an active form. There are only evil actions." - Ryszard Kapuscinski, The Shadow of the Sun

I really like the idea that "that which does harm to others is evil." That is a truth, I feel. I align himself along with the Christian belief that evil does exist in an external form, that we can think evil thoughts (for is not thinking an action?), but that we are not evil simply by breathing, existing. In my belief system, Christ overcomes all else, if we allow him to.

Living Betterly

2011-01-07T23:00:00.000+01:00

"I have so much, so much around me that is good. Not everything; I still want more, I probably want more than I could handle; in fact I probably want things that would only make me unhappy if I had the. But even that's okay; that's till part of the contentment.

"If my life was a film, he thought, I'd roll the credits now; fade on this beatific smile in an empty room, the man on a ladder making things better, renovating, improving. Cut. Print. The End.

"Well, he told himself, it isn't a film, laddie. He was filled with a surge of pure joy, simple delight at being where and who he was and knowing the people he did. He threw the paint brush into one corner of the room, jumped off the ladder, and ran through to Andrea." -- Iain Banks, The Bridge.

When I first arrived at home after my sojourn abroad, I felt that life was perfect. My life still feels pretty perfect, and I am quite content (searching for internships is putting a damper on my contentment levels, though), and I thought Iain Banks expressed the idea adequately. Not perfectly; that's something that I'll reserve for myself when I've had enough time away from Mr. Banks' ideas.

P.S. Yes, Jeffershon, I took the conceit for the title from one of your friends. I thought it was pretty brilliant, and brilliant things need to be spread.

Welp, That Was Fun - Back to Real(ish) Life

2011-01-07T17:30:00.001+01:00

So, I'm off to a trawling start in 2011. I have been reading and "writing" and puttering around on the computer, doing a little experimental cooking, keeping a fairly low profile. I've still been thinking about new themes to put up, and I'm entranced with the idea of posting about pants/trousers (in my lexicon, they are the same thing).

You have seen this before.

However, part of me also thinks that it's okay just writing about myself, my works and days. Riiight now, however, I am searching for internships for this summer. They are the banes of my holidays.

I officially dislike searching for internships, because what you're looking for in terms of company/experience isn't exactly what prospective companies are offering. Companies and organizations are forever looking for the perfect, cancer-curing intern. I don't know exactly what I'm looking for, and I have a feeling that companies aren't looking for me.

It feels like every advert for intern jobs goes something like this.

"We want a creative, energetic, intelligent, self-motivated intern to do a few menial jobs and learning the basics about our industry. She must be willing to wash away the tears of blood that her forebears have shed with her own lignin. At all times her body must resonate at a perfect A flat that will bring harmony to the universe while entertaining her superiors. Her skin must shine through rainbows, and her brain must be able to sense macro- and microwaves. Being able to microwave leftovers with said brain is a huge plus.

"P.S. This internship is unpaid, but we might be willing to give you some compensation. Like a bus pass."

Sigh. Bus passes are better than nothing, though.

Part of landing an internship is to sell yourself, but there can't be too much of a discrepancy between what you are and how good you make yourself sound. I may have done so a bit last year, which is why I wasn't that great of an intern, I feel.

Last year's internship did come with some pretty awesome experiences, though, and overall I did learn a lot.

Things I've Learned Part Three

2011-01-06T11:00:00.001+01:00

The year feels like a phoenix, eternally falling and rising. Personally, I dislike the beginning of the year; all the anticipation of the holidays and celebrations are over, and life fades back into depressing regularity. It is pock-marked with doing things we don’t want to do, i.e. New Year’s resolutions. However, it is also a time to reflect back on what we have done, and what do most people like to do better than think about themselves? Okay, okay, I’ll try not to be so self-absorbed, but here are a few of the things I’ve learned.

Life isn't all that bad. I can do things, even though it seems paralyzing at first. I can function and be motivated. In fact, life is pretty amazing sometimes.
I can function in foreign countries!
Cooking is more fun when you have people to do it with. And people to feed, too.
My personality is rather elastic.
I have a love-hate relationship with stuff. Why must it give me such a high when I buy things? Why do I feel so low when I’m overloaded with a bunch of crap?
I get attached to people. I begin to think that they’re the best in the world, and there’s no one quite like them. This has happened in multiple places. Thus, I can conclude with reasonable confidence that the world, in general, is populated with pretty good people.
I want to live abroad again.
Making lists are useful things. I used to make lists, and recently I’ve given them up. That was a bad idea. I need them in my life.

Holiday Laziness

2010-12-31T07:42:00.000+01:00

The last three or so days, my activities have pretty much been reading The Bridge by Iain Banks, cooking, and then doing some writing. In the past three days, I've done quite a bit of writing. It's been wonderful. I've shoved most thoughts of searching for an internship right out of my head.

And the best part about writing it? Not feeling compelled to share it - until the time comes.

So I Went on a Field Trip...

2010-12-31T07:28:00.000+01:00

... to the state liquor store on Tuesday. I've been trying to do more cooking recently, and we needed some of the contraband. For Christmas I received the cookbook that the gourmet cook in our community uses - you know the type, every community has one. I found two great recipes I'm going to try this week, one for chicken and one for a beef stew (since it is winter and all). Both of these recipes, however, call for an alcoholic beverage to be added to the cooking solution. Alcohol is a pretty contraband substance for Mormons. Instead of using regular cooking wine and sherry, as my mother is wont to do, we took the advice of our friend and decided to go for the real thing, though. That meant a trip to the State Liquor Store.

I was inordinately excited, because buying liquor is something I've never done before - despite living for a semester in Scotland. I was almost overwhelmed with the choice and selection; I was a babe in the woods. Here was a sign saying "GIN", another scribbled "South African" in handwritten letters. We needed some white wine and some red; because neither of us know what we we're doing, we buy cheap bottles.

I was with my mother, and she didn't get carded. Earlier today, I was making a stew which needed some beer. I got some from the local grocer's, but was a little gutted that the cashier didn't card me.

I should probably stop cooking food that requires alcohol, as I get too much of a kick out of it. Anyway, the food I made tasted alright. Not nearly as much fun as cooking it or buying the alcohol to cook it in.

Snow!

Mom coming over with a shovel to help clear neighbor's driveway.

Back to Regularly Scheduled Programming

2010-12-27T21:35:00.001+01:00

As much as I loved living abroad, and learned so much about it, and as much as there were things that I didn’t like living abroad, it must end. I’m still reeling a little from the sudden shock of being back home. I want to go back. I was at an American mall earlier today, and I was weirded out by merely walking around. I didn’t want to be there; I didn’t want to be at home; I didn’t want to be anywhere. I feel like I’m losing so much already of what I have gained by living abroad in Scotland. I’m re-forging connections that had waned over the past few years. The magic of living abroad is fading away into the life I left back in the States.

Before my Spanish-Scottish adventure, this was my personal blog, and it will continue to be so (whee, which means you don’t have to find a different URL to follow my writings!). However, it needs a new theme, as I cannot write any longer about buying stamps in Spain or how uncannily Irn Bru complements white pudding from a chippy (or going au naturel). Blogs always seem to work better if they have a theme, instead of random, meandering thoughts. Although what washes up on the cold, pebbly shore of my consciousness amuses me, I would not want to inflict it upon other people, so that posting is going to be kept to a minimum. I’ve thought about a cooking blog (I got this for Christmas), but that’s already been done. No one wants to read my literary reviews. I’m too self-conscious to turn this into a full-fledged writing blog. My mind jumped pretty readily to making a closed and highly-regulated blog about my dating escapades, entitled “man-hunting” or something o’ the ilk, but as my dates are few and far between, and that could get awkward really quickly even with name changes, I decided to scrap that idea right up quick.

Which leaves me with no leads. Until I figure something out, I'm going to keep on... doing what I've been doing. Yes.

I used a lot of hyphenated words in this post.

I don't know if I've posted this before, but this is Edinburgh Castle. I am still mildly grieving for my separation from Scotland, if you can't tell.

I Saw Three Ships - Mormon Tabernacle Choir

2010-12-25T00:17:00.000+01:00

How sweet it is to have returned home, to be back in the midst of family and old friends. Christmas is my favorite holiday; I'm so happy that I get to celebrate it with most of my immediate family and a portion of my extended family. Merry Christmas!

This is It

2010-12-19T00:43:00.001+01:00

This is the end. My last night in Edinburgh; I feel empty. The flat is silent, everyone has left - both from my block of flats and the friends I've made at uni. It feels like I'm gone, like I'm not here.

Always back to the beginning, it seems. And this is just another ending... endings must happen so that new beginnings can follow, right? Right?

So did Vizzini. When the job went wrong he went back to the beginning. Well, this is where we got the job, so it's the beginning. And I am staying to Vizzini come. -The Princess Bride

This isn't Scotland or Spain, if you catch my drift.

Lizzle's Edition of "How Tae Speak Scots"

2010-12-17T23:00:00.000+01:00

This post is mostly dedicated to Trope Girl, who will be coming to Scotland this spring semester! I feel like I'm leaving her a legacy. However, I do want to provide some useful information for anyone and everyone traveling to Scotland. There's only so much the Craig Ferguson show can do to help, Americaners out there, so let me help for a moment. This is pretty short and not comprehensive, but my hope is to be mildly entertaining.

Amalgamation of Scottish words

"cannae" or "canna" - I still have trouble pronouncing this one. It's Scots for "can't".

"dinnae" or "dinna" - Also can't pronounce this. It's Scots for "didn't", and there's a huge part of me that thinks it also means "don't". I

"ken" - know. Ken what I mean, yo?

"peeing" - Used in normal context, but also used in description of "peeing cats and dogs" when there's heavy rain out.

"radge" - crazy person. I'm not sure if it's derogatory or not, so be careful with this one.

"mingin'" - your olfactory senses are offended, i.e. something stinks

"off" - something not right, usually spoiled/stinks

"gutted" - really, really sad/disappointed - like "I was gutted I didnae maek ur parrty"

"chip" - what Americans would call French fries. basically everything you know is wrong in Scotland (cue Weird Al refrain)

"crisp" - what Americans would call a potato chip

"chippy" - a place to get some fried haddock (fish) and chips. Edinburgh version: salt, malt vinegar, and brown sauce. It's delicious.

"Weedjie" - someone from Glasgow, shortened form of "Glaswegian"

"pissed" - drunk, often describes Weedjies

"wee" - little, among other connotations

Pronunciation

This is my favorite part of trying tae spaek Scots. I get it wrong all the time, although I would mimic a few of my friends from the YSA all the time because it was fun. I hope they realize that it was me trying to fit in, while also having fun.

lit'le - just like good people from Utah and Idaho, swallow the T

no' - the American O in "no" is too soft and it fades, becoming an "ah" sound. Think short and sweet, like Noh drama - but without the breathy-ness of the H. Make an actual O with your mouth, dagnabit!

Phrases

"Hold the phone" - I have actually heard a Scotsman say this, and it's not something that Mike Meyers merely makes up when he does the voice for Shrek. Basically American "wait a second".

"I cannae be bothered" - It's not worth the effort. This is a beautiful phrase which sums up a lot of Scottish attitudes towards getting work done.

"I dinnae ken" - I don't know.

Scottish homonyms, i.e. "Confusion for Foreigners"

"Do you ken the Ken I ken? Because the Ken I ken dinnae ken you." Because I want to drop this into this blog, see the American: "Buffalo buffaloes buffalo Buffalo buffaloes."

Live from Linlithgow!

2010-12-17T21:25:00.000+01:00

So, I had to do yet another video log post, as I took a video whilst at Linlithgow. I haven't looked at it whatsoever, so I don't know how good/bad it is. Completely spontaneous, on-the-spot, unedited version.

Raw Lizzle, here. Beware.

Linlithgow!

2010-12-17T21:16:00.001+01:00

So, yesterday Emily, Anneke, Marie and I went to Linlithgow (lin-LITH-go)! Just say that name: it has a bit of magic to it. An odd type, to be sure, foreign and exotic, yet familiar, yet mystical. A friend had recommended the palace to me, and I have a few days to kill some time before heading back to the States, so this seemed like a good opportunity to go.

Emily, Anneke and I went to St Giles, though, first, because we'd been meaning to get some pictures inside the church before we left. You have to pay for a photography license (£2) but it was worth it.

St Giles Kirk from the outside

Looking inside through the arches

Stain glass window, circa 1880s

Stain glass celebrating Rabbie Burns, circa 1980s

Carving on ceiling before entering the Thistle Chapel

Looking down the nave of St Giles, towards the entrance

We met Marie at Waverley station and jumped on a train whose final destination was Glasgow. Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the Linlithgow station and were in Linlithgow town. It was pretty simple, only a few major streets, a few cafes. It was probably the size of St Andrews, I'd say. We grabbed lunch and had a little picnic outside (despite the absolutely freezing weather), and then headed over to the palace. The first impression that I had of the palace was that it was absolutely huge - a fact which was only reconfirmed the more we scrambled through it.

Linlithgow Palace is in ruins, but as such it's pretty cheap to get in (about £5.40), and they let you wander all over the place. There are about five floors which face onto an inner courtyard, and five really large staircases you can wander up. I think I took more pictures yesterday than I did from about October 20 - November 20. There was so much to see and explore. Were I a servant in the mid-sixteenth century, fresh-faced from the farm, I would be utterly lost in that place.

Entrance to Linlithgow Palace, no the Sauron-esque tower is not part of the actual palace

Interior courtyard - with snow!

It's pretty big - now imagine three more sides to this thing

Linlithgow Loch

Big fireplace

How the Great Hall looks today

How it might've looked five centuries ago

Wee Emily up there!

Wee Emily is still up there!

Linlithgow was really cool - literally. My fingers were about to fall off. There were few other tourists there, though, so we had the run of the place, essentially. There were so many rooms and chambers, and they all went back on one another like a maze, that it was almost difficult to get out of the palace. As all of the rooms were in ruin, as well, it was difficult to remember which rooms were Mary's, which were those used by the King and Queen, etc, etc. However, it was a very fertile place for the active imagination - can't you just see memory-ghosts of servants bustling around, of the Queen pacing through her chambers, of little Mary playing down by the Loch?

The above photo is of one of the insignias above the entrance - it's quite sumptuous, is it not? Now imagine the entire castle with ornaments and decorations as brightly painted as the one above. Rather spectacular, no?

All in all, a very, very good day.

Finished!

2010-12-17T20:38:00.001+01:00

I'm all done with finals! Some of them went better than others (I have said in the past how I think I fail my finals - there's a part of me that thinks I really did fail my Greek History one), but they're done! In order to celebrate, I've been visiting a few new places, saying "goodbye" to my favorite haunts, and getting a little shopping done.

Wednesday night was my official last time at Institute (and my buddy James' incidental last time, because he missed his flight home), and a few members had been really, really nice and got us a wee little cake and two cards, one signed by everyone, the other a wee postcard showing a map of Scotland. On the back of the postcard was scrawled, "Just so you know where to find us when you visit next, and so you don't forget us." As if I could ever forget these people.

Just like life continues on, so do relationships, even if they are not continued in this life, per se.

Anyway, after Institute was over, we had a small ceilidh with about ten or so people, swinging around the cultural hall (very dangerous, by the way - we had a bit of a casualty), and then we watched Hairspray together afterwards.

Yesterday, I went with three other friends to Linlithgow and saw the Palace there, where Mary Queen of Scots was born. That deserves its own post(!) which I will put up later.

Wow, it's been such a whirlwind of a few days, as after getting back from Linlithgow, I headed over to Rachel's flat in New Town, where we had another unofficial last hang-out with Janine, Sarah, Kieren, and Christian. The latter three had to leave early, and I wanted to hang out a bit more. Janine was already staying over for the night, and Rachel has extra space, so I stayed over too. We got a chippy (one of my last! so sad), and we watched Definitely, Maybe.

Yay!

A farewell chippy meal. Fried squid, chips, and Irn Bru. All you need to be perfectly happy/Scottish.

My sadness looks more like willful distrust - if you understand that sentiment, then we should be best friends. Also, I failed at getting a picture in of the actual chippy food. And I look like a horror story. Only a few more days to go until I'm home. Here, it looks like I'm camping.

I've watched a good portion of movies this semester... the Scottish (or the ones I know) are quite similar to Americans (or at least the ones I know) in that regard.

And today, after making it up to the High Street, I met Beth again for one last hurrah in Scotland before I go home and she continues to stay here to work on her dissertation in St Andrews! It was a good day - Chocolate Soup Cafe, St Giles church, shopping, and German Christmas market. Now, on to packing and a few more goodbyes tonight before settling the very final things.

First Home, then Spain, then Scotland.... I'm getting tired of saying goodbye.

Quotes From the Throes of Finals V

2010-12-15T23:00:00.000+01:00

"Beings of a day! What is anyone? What is he not? Man is a dream of a shadow." - Pindar, Pythian Victory Odes

A Little Catching Up

2010-12-11T01:39:00.000+01:00

Here are photos!

I have realized a pattern (in the menai date, hee hee) in my posting habits: lots of text, followed by a post full of pictures. I know you all just stick around for the pictures.

Ice more than two inches thick

Entry into the secret tunnel

Claudia's 21st birthday

Rebecca's happy trails eve

High Street looking down towards the Firth

Edinburgh Castle from Princes Street

You'd Think This Were a Tumble Blog II

2010-12-10T23:40:00.001+01:00

I am in the midst of writing an exam essay, and I thought about putting this as the concluding paragraph and remarks. However, I felt it had a bit more potential than to be consigned to the end of a paper and then lost to oblivion. So I tweaked it a little bit, turning it into more of a creative-writing piece. This is a significant moment for me; I have forged a link between criticism and creativity. I have proved to myself that such a feat can be done, even if not well. I will wrise again.

‘The power of the city lies in the fact that it disconcerts you. You can try to master it, and for a time, you might succeed. Although you should never, ever forget that it has the ultimate control. Its an ever-shifting, ever-moving buzz. Oh, laddie, it is not safe at all. The only safety it affords is the anonymity, of getting lost in the crowds. The city is the important thing, the powerful thing. And you are living in a postmodern city. Postmodernism means refuting Lyotard’s ‘grand narrative’ theory, it means disruption and change and being unanchored. Cutting yourself off. From agriculture, from family, from friends – even though we play with a superimposed structure on our friends via the city, these little closes and alleys running into each other, like a game of cat-and-mouse. Only, you don't know that you're not the cat, or even the mouse. It means confusion, it means Edinburgh.’

Quotes From the Throes of Finals IV

2010-12-10T23:30:00.001+01:00

Alternatively titled ‘Irn Bru II: Scottishness in a Soft Drink’

While reading Jeffrey Karnicky’s essay ‘Irvine Welsh’s Novel Subjectivities’, I came across this quote:

Simon Frith, an English professor living in Scotland, writes that “whenever I discuss Scottishness with Scottish students the consensus is that the only good indicator of a Scot is a Scottish accent.”

This is not true. An additional indicator of Scottishness is whether or not you like Irn Bru. I have had Scottish friends aver that they have to like Irn Bru because they are Scottish. Because this sounds too much like a contract between a nation and a major franchise, I would suggest that liking the bubbly-gum, cough medicine-tasting drink is encoded into their genetic makeup.

Quotes From the Throes of Finals III

2010-12-10T01:59:00.003+01:00

Why are these all from Trainspotting? I didn’t even like the book much. The second quote I posted was one of the few redeeming statements from the book. I enclosed this following paragraph because I think it is funny to see it in print; it’s like a scrawl from childhood. I disagree with the statements; drugs have the potential to give you a synthesized experience of life. We're meant to experience things a certain way - why let it be mediated? Certainly, there are proponents who say that such activities enhance the quality and experience of life, but as with many things in life, I reserve my judgment but also my skepticism.

‘Whin yir oan junk, aw ye worry aboot is scorin. Oaf the gear, ye worry aboot loads ay things. Nae money, cannae git pished. Goat money, drinkin too much. Cannae git a burd, ane chance ay a ride. Git a burd, too much hassle, cannae breathe without her gittin oan yir case. Either that, or ye blow it, and feel aw guilty. Ye worry aboot bills, food, bailiffs, these Jambo Nazi scum beatin us, aw the things that he couldnae gie a fuck aboot whin yuv goat a real junk habit. Uv just goat one thing tae worry aboot. The simplicity ay it aw. Ken whit ah mean?’ – Irvine Welsh, Trainspotting

Quotes From the Throes of Finals II

2010-12-10T01:56:00.002+01:00

'That night, back at my flat, I heard the buzzer go. Assuming it to be Donna, who had been out, I opened the stair and house doors. A few minutes later, my auld man stood in the doorway with tears in his eyes. It was the first time he'd ever been to my flat. He moved over to me and held me in a crushing grip, sobbing, and repeating - Ma laddie. It felt a world or two better than: "Well, there's nothing tae say."

‘I cried loudly and unselfconsciously. As with Donna, so with my family. We have found an intimacy which may have otherwise elduded us. I wish I hadn’t waited so long to become a human being. Better late than never, though, believe you me.

‘There’s some kids playing out in the back, the strip of grass laminated an electric green by the brilliant sunlight. The sky is a delicious clear blue. Life is beautiful. I’m going to enjoy it, and I’m going to have a long life. I’ll be what the medical staff call a long-term survivor. I just know that I will.’ – Irvine Welsh, Trainspotting

Quotes From the Throes of Finals I

2010-12-10T01:49:00.004+01:00

‘Ah hate it the wey Mark’s intae hurtin animals… it’s wrong man. Ye cannae love yirsel if ye want tae hurt things like that… ah mean… what hope is thir. The squirrel’s likes lovely. He’s dain his ain thing. He’s free. That’s mibbe what Rents cannae stand. The squirrel’s free, man.’ –Irvine Welsh, Trainspotting

Reading the City as a Sign

2010-12-09T19:52:00.000+01:00

Yes, it's exam time. Isn't this interesting, though?! It's from an article about academically reading the city. She doesn't quite talk about understanding a city or a location through the body, rather than simply 'knowing' it academically/spiritually, but she gets dang close.

Moving about the city is not a passive activity. On the contrary, it stimulates our capcity to perceive, which enables Karl Gottlob Schelle to consider this activity 'non comme un simple mouvement du corps mai bein comme une action dans laquelle quelque chose de l'esprit est engagee' (not as a simple motion of the body but rather as an action in which something spiritual is engaged). It creates awareness of way that motion continually builds and rebuilds the world around us. The action of walking changes or usual or habitual view of the world, opens it up and helps us to reconsider the everyday.

-- Genevieve Quebriac, 'The City: A Space for Event-Related Encounters'

Note to La: Sorry I didn't put in the accents; I don't have the motivation.

Americans in Edinburgh

2010-12-09T02:20:00.000+01:00

Happy birthday to my friend Claudia! She turned 21 tonight, and she wanted to do the typical American rituals. A big group of us gathered at her flat, ate cake, made sure we were liquidated, and then set out for Koko, a shnazzy little bar-restaurant near George Square, where most of us students hang out. I'd never been there before, and it was nice being in a bit of a more upscale place than places like the Montague, the Library Bar, the Southsider, Newington Fish and Chips, or even Iman's and - heaven forbid - Globetrotters.

There were lots of shots around, and people drinking absinthe. I was content with my lemon and lime bitters :) We sat, we chatted, a group of us even played pool with a billiard set (because we didn't know how to play billiards).

It was a good night. Pictures to come later. Tomorrow, more writing exam essays and studying for exams. Onwards! Less than a week until I'm done with all my exams, and then a few more days and I'll be on my way home.

Home. I'm feeling ambivalent about it right now. Static. I'm going to miss this place, and the people I've met here, but it will be so, so good to be back home.

You Know You've Been Researching Too Long When...

2010-12-08T23:00:00.002+01:00

You 1) can't find any secondary articles and criticism on the text you're evaluating, and 2) find secondary reading entitled 'American Heroes: On Frivolity and Horror in 2008's Summer Superhero Movies: "The Dark Knight, the Incredible Hulk, and Iron Man"'. The abstract reads

An analysis of 2008 Hollywood superhero blockbusters. Iron Mon and The Incredible Hulk are humorous and often light-hearted; but the latest Batman film, The Dark Knight, which reinvents The Joker in Heath Ledger's performance, is much more grim and morally complex—a dark entertainment for pessimistic times.

I'm torn when I see an article entitled thus. It means that popular culture is coming under scrutiny, which is good - but as I sit typing here it's only two years after these films came out. The article was published in the Spring of 2009. I think there needs to be a bit more time before we start examining our current culture. If we immediately start dissecting cultural indicators like films, then it takes away some of the creative potential for further movement and posits one reading of the meaning of said film. It's like Justin Bieber writing a memoir of his life when he's sixteen years old, or tweens updating their Twitter every half hour, or - heaven forbid - a twentysomething woman who just happens to blog about life abroad.

I am aware that finding alternative meanings is the work for subsequent critics, and that merely because all three of these films were major blockbusters they do not lack valid artistic and political statements and reflections of contemporary society. Indeed, 'The Dark Knight' was pretty incredible, and one o' my dear brothers said it was 'almost a perfect film.' But these movies still seem so fresh on the cultural stage. I remember watching 'The Dark Knight' and 'Iron Man' in theaters (I never saw 'The Incredible Hulk'), and perhaps my reaction against the article comes because I feel co-opted into criticism that tries to analyse and impose a reading on me, as a participant in the blockbustering films of that summer.

We all remember these films, don't we?

On further reflection, with the rate that movies are churned out of Hollywood, 'The Dark Knight' does feel like it has come out long ago. When I compare it to other films, though, like the Lord of the Rings trilogy, 'The Dark Knight' seems to follow right on its heels. (I have to keep reminding myself that Lord of the Rings came out in 2001, 2002, and 2003). Maybe in cultural history, there is only 'the past,' which can be subdivided into 'the recent past' which includes things that happened in one's lifetime and then 'the distant past' which happened before one was born or memory formed. That is overly simplistic, and a cultural historian would probably go at me with one of Gimli's war axes.

Thank You, La-La

2010-12-06T17:08:00.000+01:00

I'm slowly working through A Life of One's Own. I'm not sure, quite yet, what to make of it. I think there is some great advice there, and it's interesting to hear the psychology behind some of Woolf's work. But, as always, I want to have my cake and eat it too. I want to be the person who is making these discoveries for myself, experiencing Virginia Woolf's writing myself. I want to be the one writing about it and mediating other people's experiences of her, not being on the receiving end of such a process.

I feel I have a bit more growing up to do.

"If someone was once interesting to you but has since moved on, subdue your impulse to blame her for some total or damnable duplicity. I have to try to sit tight as I admit my former friends are complicated, that they range between interests, and that no interesting and lasting friend is utterly consistent."

-- Ilana Simons, A Life of One's Own

Examining

2010-12-06T17:04:00.000+01:00

It's the midst of exams and being busy, which means that I will be posting a lot of quotations that I come across in my reading, researching, and studying. Putting quotes up is not unique to exam-time, but rather a lovely side effect. I'm not doing anything interesting to friends and family back home at the moment, but I thought I'd share a bit of what's going on inside my head.

'"From our inns," returned the gentleman, "a stranger might imagine that we were a nation of poets; machines at least containing poetry, which the notion of a journey emptied of their contents: is it from the vanity of being thought geniuses, or a mere mechanical imitation of the custom of others, that we are tempted to scrawl rhime upon such places?"'

--Henry Mackenzie, The Man of Feeling

We Have Found It....

2010-12-05T21:43:00.000+01:00

...the secret tunnel. Through the mountains. To the Sheep's Heid Inn and Duddingston Loch.

Video Blogging, Take One

2010-12-04T13:33:00.004+01:00

It worked, it worked! At least for me - I put the video settings on private, so you might have trouble viewing it via Youtube. And here comes the confession where I hate the sound of my voice - it sounds high-pitched, nasally, and annoying. Especially when I trail off and finish a sentence weakly.

Anyway, I'm afraid of heights.

Featured in this video: Claudia, Lindsey, Chelsea, and Lauren!

The Top of a Ferris Wheel is a Bad Place to Remember You're Afraid of Heights

2010-12-03T23:59:00.000+01:00

Do you know what this is? This is my 200th post! And what better way than to celebrate it than with a video on a ferris wheel? First up for the evening (Friday night, yesh) was the Christmas Market, in which I got a free sweet mince pie and a ride on the ferris wheel, and where I filmed this video:

Apparently the video refuses to upload properly, so here are a few pictures:

Fire Punch makes fire lasers launch from your eyes.

Lindsey in front of the Ferris Wheel.

Blurry view of the festivities.

Claudia and Lindsey being themselves.

You'll just have to take my word for it until the video loads properly that the top of a ferris wheel is a very bad place to remember suddenly that you're afraid of heights.

Afterwards, I went to the cinema with some friends and saw the best worst Christmas-horror film imaginable. It's called Rare Export. Let me take a minute, just sit right there, I'll tell you why it's better than 'Fresh Prince of Bel Air'. First of all, it was made in Finland. That earns this film points for being foreign, and the country is just random enough without being obscure: Finland's status as one of the countries with the happiest overall population, good educational system, etc., means that they should know how to pull off a reasonably good film.

Secondly, it was about Santa being a gigantic horned demon, frozen and buried beneath a mountain. Of course, the wealthy Americans had to go and dig it up for prophet, and then the Finns must save the day by blowing up the thawing Santa-demon. The first half of the movie is quite jumpy, really, until halfway through the film when you begin to have armies of old, nude men ('elves') running through Finnish forests, the film evokes a whole new type of fear.

However, they do end up producing a line of Santas from the old men. What makes this gold is that they have an assembly line of Santas, perfecting their Santa-ness under Bolshevik-like surveillance. Take my word - hilarious.

2010-12-02T23:00:00.001+01:00

'Come, my blossoming tree, this evening we'll turn out the light and I'll lay your spectacles to rest on two swelling buds that promise to bring forth leaves. You'll score the celestial vault with the tips of your branches, and shake your invisible trunk as it props up the moon. New dreams will fall back down like warm snow at our feet. You'll plant your high-heeled roots firmly in the earth. Let me climb over your bamboo heart, I want to sleep by your side.'

- Mathias Malzieu, The Boy With the Cuckoo-Clock Heart

I don't understand this book, other than it is a static exploration of young love. The images here are lovely, they just don't make sense to me. Perhaps I have to draw my own conclusions (parataxis).

Pair o' taxis.

From "Set in Darkness"

2010-11-30T11:44:00.000+01:00

"'I'm serious. We all come from darkness, you have to remember that, and we sleep during the night to escape the fact. I'll bet you have trouble sleeping at night, don't you?' He didn't say anything. Her face grew less animated. 'We'll all return to darkness one day, when the sun burns out.' A sudden smile lit her eyes. '"Though my soul may set in darkness, It will rise in perfect light."'
"'A poem?' he guessed.
"She nodded. 'I forget the rest.'"

-Ian Rankin, Set in Darkness

Next post will, I hope, be something special. Also, happy birthday to Aniue-san (J-Chan)!