Eye <3 U

It's strange when the highlight of my day is visiting my eye doctor-- something I only get around to once a year. I guess you would understand if you knew my doctor. My mother calls him an aging hippie, but I think he looks more like a benign Mel Gibson, more likely forget what he's doing during an eye exam than call some lady "Sugartits." He also never wears socks. Ever.


For most of my life, he called me "Kaitlyn," which is decidedly not my name. It didn't matter that my preferred moniker was on my chart; I was Kaitlyn for a good 18 years. Then, out of nowhere, my name became "Kathryn," which is technically correct, but a name I never go by publicly. I still don't know what changed his mind.


But what really sets him apart is how good he makes you feel about your eyes.


"Wow, beautiful. Your eye pressure is absolutely perfect."


"That's a nice thick rim of tissue around your ocular nerve."


"Your anterior chamber is deep and calm." (I've never figure this one out, but I picture a velvet blue with a humpback whale singing mournfully behind my pupils. Please, let that be what's actually back there.)


What do you say to these things? "Why, thank you! I've been working very hard to build up such thick tissue. It's wonderful when one's work is noticed."


I come out of that office with a smile every time.


K.

Scattered Thoughts: Produced by frustration

I had another post earlier, but the formatting nearly killed me. So, for lack of any more brain cells to put together something coherent, another Scattered Thoughts.

• I had my second day of training at National Department Store (NDS), which focused primarily on an unintentionally hilarious workplace harassment video focused on "sweater puppies" and drunk Irish jokes. Then I learned about how you have to "give the customer the pickle." Retail is weird.

• While taking the bathroom trashcan out to the curb tonight, the wind caught a pantyliner wrapper and blew it down the street. I had to chase it, which didn't help my self-esteem.

• I found my parakeet asleep on her side the other day. Thought she was dead for a second, then she sat up and looked at me like I was doing something unnatural.

• Another weird thing-- I saw a chipmunk eating a worm. What the hell is up with that?!

• No news on the career front. I've been told that I just have to keep going, which is obviously true. After all, I don't want to be stuck at my parents' house forever. But throw me a bone, people! I'll work for peanuts!

K.

UGLY!

Sorry, my blog is currently under construction! I'll be posting as usual (haphazardly), but everything will just look weird for a while.

Thanks!

K.

Whining

Maybe it's because I'm trying not to think about my first day of work tomorrow, but I've been concentrating lately on figuring out whether to change my blog template. The trouble with already having an established name for a blog and a set visual image for it is that nothing you see in the world of free Blogger templates is quite right.

Trying to stick with the title's theme, I've been looking for interesting writing-related backgrounds, but all I came up with are scrolls and medieval journal-like things. They just all strike me as so literal.

When I think of "Writing in Wax," I picture a stylus pressing deep into a wax tablet-- easily to scribble, easy to erase.  I think this tablet softly lit by candlelight as someone labors away in the dark to get their thoughts down before sleep takes over. And none of these templates are quite up to my standards. 

This wouldn't be so irritating if I had Photoshop Elements on this computer, but I don't. Frankly, I don't even know if my old copy of the software will work on Vista. But if it did, I could just remake the banner I have right now-- just take out the references to college and such. 

This post needs to end now. I'm not writing anything productive and I'm just doing it to stave off the sleepless night I know if ahead of me. Sorry to all of you who just wasted your time.

K. 

No longer fits

My banner for this blog no longer fits me anymore. Sure, I can get a couple more weeks out of the college thing-- until I get my August diploma, that is. And while I'm thinking about it, should I just change the entire layout of this site? And do I really want to go through all of the hassle?

Too much to think about for now.

K.

Red, white, and the blues

I surprised myself the other day by asking my dad if we could have a "real" 4th of July this year.

I'm not sure what I meant by that.

What I'm confused about is that the comment came out sounding like an impatient American child with immigrant parents. Could we save the hummus/chopsticks/beans and rice for another day? Can't we act like an American family just this once?

I suppose that I have been a stranger to July 4ths in a conventional sense. Up until last year, I spent most Independence Days at Jew Camp-- a dreamy bastion of foreignness in the middle of Confederate Flag-waving Maryland. Not that Jew Camp didn't celebrate the holiday. Far from it. That particular days was swarming with campers wearing redwhiteandblue, patriotic sing-alongs after a barbeque lunch (kosher, of course), and the invariable Americana kids show in the evenings. But beneath of all this star spangled fervor ran a faint sense of desperation, the sweaty scent of someone trying too hard. The lengths we went to celebrate the 4th the "correct" way made the celebration awkward in itself.*

After I left Jew Camp, I spent the next 4th in summer school in an effort to graduate college on time (you see how that worked out). Aside from a mountain of American-themed cupcakes in the dining hall, it was like the national holiday didn't exist.

All of this brings me up to this year and that squeezing feeling in my chest that I wasn't doing this "American" thing right. No fireworks, no party, and no thought of a barbeque until I practically begged my father to grill some hot dogs for me. Circumstances didn't help, either. My parents are self-employed, so even though it was a Friday, there was no sense of a long weekend. The sky remained stubbornly overcast and weather steamy, punctuated by occasional rain. My father insisted I make Israeli salad for our barbeque, which ruined the American theme I had been going for, and then promptly forgot to grill the hot dogs I had asked for.

It's stupid and ridiculous for me to complain about this. There are people in this country who legitimately have a right to feel left out of America and carry the air of "foreigner" around with them, no matter how hard they try to assimilate. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, unaccented me-- I can do pretty much anything in this country without being hassled or questioned. I have no right to feel like the 4th passed me by without me feeling that surge of warmth and belonging. Do I?

K.

*There was this one time (before I spent 4ths there as a camper) that things got a little weird. The director at the time, a gentile, was a Confederate Civil War re-enactor along with her husband. For some reason, they decided that July 4th would be a great time to have a "Confederate Day." A lot of weird things happened at Jew Camp, but that was one that only happened once.

China on July 4th. So patriotic.

My China scrapblog. I figure it might be easier to view the pictures this way for now.



K.

Things I Like: Arrested Development

One of the things that I think is missing from TV today (aside from shows like "30 Rock" and "Lost") is the ability to create complicated story lines that are both cohesive enough to last through an entire season (or little reminders here and there) and entertaining at the same time. I think that this type of clever, forward-thinking writing is the saving grace of a medium that is more and more giving over to reality shows, stupid sitcoms, and cop/doctor dramas. However, television lost a shining light in its redemption when it callously canceled "Arrested Development."

No, I'm not one of those people who blames an idiotic public for the cancellation of "AD"-- I helped kill it in my own tiny way by not watching the show when it was on. And I can't really blame FOX either. After all, why waste valuable air time on something that only a select crowd seems to appreciate? Still, even with all this apparent magnanimity, I'm still kind of bitter.

For those of you who haven't seen "AD"-- and I know you're there, don't be shy-- you can find all three seasons on Hulu.com. Watch them. Seriously.

For those of you who have seen it, you know what I'm talking about.

Let me outline several reasons why I love this show.

1) My hetero-crush on Jason Bateman; my lesbian-crush on Portia de Rossi; my voice-crush on Will Arnett.

2) This video:

3) The "Happy Days" references. And why not? Ron Howard narrates and both Henry Winkler and Scott Baio have bit parts. You haven't seen anything until you see the Fonz making awkward references to his perverse sexual preferences.

4) Bob Loblaw Law Blog. Analrapist. Banana Grabber. Loose seal. "I've made a huge mistake." "Final Countdown." "Come on!" Mrs. Featherbottom.

5) And this video:

Oh, there are more, but you'll have to see for yourself (if you haven't already).

And that, my friends, was a Thing I Like.

K.

PS. An "AD" movie? Say what?!?

Losing it

I've been having the strangest sense of time just slipping by.

For example, I know that it's Wednesday evening. Not only that, but I know it's July 2, which is pretty incredible for a person who never remembers dates. But there have been periods during the day when I can't remember which month it is or what day it is or even how my life fits into the current season. The whole thing is scary and disorienting.

I realize that this comes from not having a routine that marks out the days in a week, like school or work, and that as soon as I start my part-time job things will get better. But it worries me that I feel the slightest bit insane during these periods. Not shooting up a Wal-Mart insane, just drooling on the street corner insane.

Anyone else have this issue?

K.

On a more random note...

I stole this from Jen's blog. I'm pathetically in love with memes.

One Word Survey

1. Where is your cell phone? table
2. Your significant other? theoretical
3Your hair? blonde
4Your mother? bed
5. Your father? office
6. Your favorite thing? sleep
7. Your dream last night? unremarkable
8 Your favorite drink? julius
9. Your dream/goal? travel
10. The room you’re in? porch
11. Your hobby? reading
12. Your fear? unemployment
13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? alive
14. What you’re not? optimistic
15. Muffins? corn
16. One of your wish list items? job
17. Where you grew up? PA
. The last thing you did? whined
19. What are you wearing? shirt
20. Favorite Gadget? laptop
Your pets? parakeet
22. Your computer? Toshiba
23. Your mood? despairing
24. Missing someone? nope
25. Your car? theoretical
26. Something you’re not wearing? glasses
27. Favorite store? Borders
28. Like someone? nope
29. Your favorite color? blue
30. When is the last time you laughed? today
31. Last time you cried? today

Open to anybody.

K.

Scattered Thoughts: The Depths of Despair Edition

• I talked with Time today-- they don't have an opening for me. Mom insists that this doesn't mean that they don't want me, but it doesn't make me less depressed over it.

• Dad has made it quite clear that he does not approve of the India thing, which is an issue if I get sick/arrested/blown up/sold into slavery over there. No support network. Well, it hardly matters-- they have written back to me either.

• Sending out resumes into the void of internet job postings is a thankless task. It's like you just... disappear.

• I have to clear out my apartment tomorrow. :(

Life recently = booooo.

K.

Dad: Making me just a little more paranoid, one comment at a time

India called today.

I'm not sure what I was expecting-- it was really just an exploratory interview over the phone. Luckily, my one fear did not come to pass: that the interviewer's accent would make nearly impossible to hold a conversation. Her amazing English allowed me to escaped sounding like a mouth-breathing doofus. This time, anyway.

I explained the job to my parents afterwards. My dad gave me a look.

"Couldn't you just do that from the US? Like, over the computer?"

"I guess. But then they would have to pay me American wages."

"Kate, you're going to laugh when I say this, but I'm quite serious."

"Hmm?"

"You need to check this out to make sure it isn't white slavery."

??!!!

So, what am I supposed to do? Call my interviewer back up and ask her very nicely if I'm signing up to be put into bondage and would she please be honest with me about it?

Seriously, New York jobs that I have applied for, call me back. It would make life so much easier.

K.

Huh?

Holy crap, India just contacted me to have a first round of interviews. Over the phone.

I can't understand accents over the phone. :(

K.

PS. I also just told my mom about this interview thing and she got this really tight-lipped expression on her face. Not good.

Yeeowch!

My mom is pretty awesome. She crochets cacti.

They're actually kinda cool. From way back, they look real.

I have one like the item pictured above on my mantel at school. People think it's real all the time-- 'til they touch it.



I don't mean to pimp my mother's Etsy site or anything, but I will, mostly because I've been sewing on those little flowers for her. I would kinda like to see her succeed.

So if you like 'em, head on over to blazingneedle's Etsy site and give her stuff a look over.

Ta!

K.

If only this would actually happen

A meme from Gwyn.

You are in a mall when the zombies attack. You have:
1. One weapon.
2. One song blasting on the speakers.
3. One famous person to fight alongside you.

Weapon can be real or fictional; you may assume endless ammo if applicable. Person can be real or fictional.

Right, okay.

1) The OCD flash grenade. Zombies have a pretty shambling pace anyway-- it would take them that much longer to get to me if they have to touch each wall three times or avoid cracks in the floor.

2) "Sinner Man" Nina Simone

3) Avner from Munich. It would make things pretty angsty, but those zombies would be obliterated.

K.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I just applied for a job in India. Please don't kill me.

You see, it's like it was made for me. They actually want a English/literature major who can work with international co-workers all while editing in both American and British English. I've done all of that.

Granted, this company has something to do with finances and I don't know a thing about that (much like I don't know anything about shoes), but knowledge of the financial world was optional, you see.

I'm kinda hoping that they'll call me.

Sorry?

K.

What do you do with a BA in English?

Find a part-time job until you actually get hired in some interesting career, obviously.

On my first day of my first ever time seriously looking into retail as employment, I stumbled into a position and got hired. In the shoe department.

I don't know anything about shoes, but I'll be getting medical insurance and a 20% discount while I figure it out.

K.

PS. I have to change the wording of my banner-- I'm barely a college student anymore. No degree until August, true, but what's a month or two?

I love the BBC...

...because they make the best period costume dramas. And they always have some random British actor that I know from somewhere, but can't place. I was watching North & South today and had that same deja vu feeling with Richard Armitage, which is odd because I usually have a keen memory for good-looking men. Anyway, here's a link to the video. Watch it-- it's romantic.

That's really all I had to say. Not really much of a post, is it?

K.

Scattered Thoughts: The "I'm in Israel-- but I stole my father's computer" edition

• As I mentioned before-- travelling with my family is a bad idea. I'm spoiled and used to my relative freedom when I roam alone. This almost feels like I'm being held hostage to everyone else, especially my dad, who halts everything in order to engage in hour-long business calls.

• The upside is that we benefit from all of those business calls. We're testing out a hotel in Jerusalem for Dad's NATO conference in December, taking private Krav Maga lessons, engaging a tourguide who works for the company (and also used to be a colonol in center city Jerusalem's police force). Exciting things.

• I'm getting back into the swing of Israel and it all reminds me of why I like it so much here. The people, the weather, etc.

• Jerusalem was exciting. We ended up doing things that were strictly taboo on Birthright trips and with my Dad's overprotective business partner. The winding market streets of the Arab Quarter were especially interesting, mostly for their slight air of menace. Still, it could be my imagination-- we did get pastries from a pleasant old Arab man who wrestled our empty water bottles away from us in order to fill them. No menace there. Dad says that there are many in that Quarter who just want to live in peace, yet others would probably be pretty damn excited to see Israel fall. And yes, I could see that for myself in some of the really pro-Palestinian souveniers in the marketplace. It was easier to breathe in the Christian Quarter where the streets were less narrow and people didn't stare. A bagel salesman, who I believe was a Christian Arab, offered me 40 thousand camels and a donkey for my hand in marriage. Cheeky. Thinking about it later, I realized that those camels (and donkey) would be a dowry and going directly to my parents, leaving me and the bagel guy sans a significant number of camels. Is it just me or would that make me poorer in the long run?

• I have to say that it wasn't only the Arab Quarter that made me feel awkward. There were so many Orthodox Jews around my hotel that I felt odd stepping out on the street, even when I was wearing a rather modest pair of shorts and long-sleeved hoodie. I have a feeling that it's easier to be secular outside of Jerusalem.

• Yesterday was spent at Masada and the Dead Sea. Not much to report other than I was sitting at the Northern Palace on Masada for about an hour and forty minutes, in which time Americans thought I was both a local and a Frenchwoman.

• Currently sitting in hotel room in Nahariyya after a day in Caesaria. We ate while watching the Med pounding the shore, trying to decide what these loud explosion-like sounds were. The rest of us settled on the waves slamming into the jetty, but Dad wasn't convinced. Hailing over our tired-looking waitress, he proceeded to ask if that noise had been caused by waves. She gave him the most withering look I have ever seen and replied, "Yes. We are not being bombed, sir." With that, she sulked away. In her defense, she's probably asked by panicky tourists all the time whether the resort is being bombed. In our defense, we asked her if those noises were made by waves. I don't think we said anything about bombs.

• My Hebrew-English phrasebook has this entry: "Have you been tested for AIDS?" I wonder how many times that's been used.

• There's a wedding singer in the courtyard below, crooning some Hebrew melodies. I was just able to ignore him when he busted out "I Love You Just the Way You Are." Can't go wrong with a little Billy.

• This was a bad entry, but I'm tired, burned, and hungry. :(

K.

• PS. Cancer, leave Paul Newman alone!!!!

Scattered Thoughts: Umm...

• Going to Israel tomorrow. Not packed and just irritated my parents, who I will be traveling with for ten days. And this is why I travel alone.

• I drove to WC again today and saw my turtle along the side of the road. He seems to be two-dimensional now, which is sad.

• Oh hey, so you know how I was, like, the last person alive who hadn't seen Ironman? Well, finally saw it and wow! May I be first in line to welcome the Robert Downey Jr revolution?

• People seemed bent on getting themselves killed while I was driving home today. One Amish man, one Mennonite woman, and two idiots decided that it would be a good idea to wander near the road without any reflective gear whatsoever. I'm sure that it wasn't a coordinated effort because they were miles and a river apart, but hey. Stop it.

• This was a useless entry and I'm not even sure why I wrote it.

K.

Me? A Published Poet?

Yeah, okay, it's not The New Yorker, but it's a start.

The Swarthmore Literary Review. Scroll down to "The Kimono." That's mine.

K.

Dear Robert Downey Jr,

You don't know me and you shouldn't, 'cause that's just weird. But I've had some thoughts about you lately that I thought I would share.

See, before two years ago, the most I knew about you is that you were a bit of a druggie (am I understating this?). That's all that really mattered to me. I grew up in a pretty straight-laced household, you see, so I didn't hold with those shenanigans. Then you fell off the radar and I forgot about you.

Until a couple years ago when you made my day.

You see, I was pledging for my honors/service co-ed fraternity (stick with me here) and had volunteered to do something that made me very uncomfortable. I hate admitting this because it makes me seem like an insensitive monster, but I'm very awkward around the developmentally challenged (am I being PC here?). I want to treat them with respect, but I worry that I may treat them too much like an adult or too much like a child. My nervousness stems from the most beneficent of sources, believe me. I want to be able to make their lives better but am at a loss as to how.

Anyway, for some reason, I ended up volunteering to help out at the ARC. It was definitely against type, but without more participation, the day would have fallen flat for those kids. Didn't want that on my soul. So I went to what turned out to be a movie day. And what movie did we end up seeing?

Yep, The Shaggy Dog. The last movie I had ever wanted to see.

And it wasn't because it was a kid's film. Please. I worked at a camp at the time-- you can't be a counselor without having an appreciation for kiddie movies. No, it's the movie poster (click on the link-- if you dare). I'm sure that you've seen this, sir. The cute dog, the wet nose, THE EYES OF DOOM!!!

No, sir, I can't stand human eyes on animals. It's the creepiest thing I have ever seen. That, more than anything, made me cry a little inside as we approached the theater, me clutching the hand of my assigned child, who looked blissfully unaware of the demonic force we were about to encounter.

It also didn't help that-- you're wondering where you come into this, I know, but stick with me-- the movie was bad. Just terrible. The bacteria in my stomach could have written a better script than that. Ugh. The kids seemed to like it, though, so I slouched into my seat, growing more depressed by the second, when-- like a heavenly ray of light-- you appeared on the screen.

I'm going to admit, my first thought when I saw you was, "Holy crap, he's alive?!" Not the most promising start. But you delivered the most deliciously evil performance of a scientist gone mad with power that I had ever seen and stole the show. Now, I might have been so glum that a pratfall on a banana peel would have cheered me up, but you went farther than that. It's ridiculous to say it, but because of you, I managed to cheerfully make it through the day. The rest of those memories from that event are fond ones mostly because my attitude had improved.

Now, it's fickle for me to say it, but I promptly forgot about that day, much like a man who promises G-d to donate half of his income to charity if only he is able to keep his job, then when everything is sunny again, is too distracted by everyday minutia to perform the task. (That was a long sentence.) But a part of me remembered, waiting to resurface.

And, lo, it has! You're back on the map, apparently healthy, and armed with a sense of humor about your darker days. I'm not blowing smoke up your ass when I say that I am genuinely pleased for you. Please don't blow it.

Oh, and call me. There are few men that I find attractive with facial hair, so I have to take advantage of this.

<3 K.

PS. Loved this video.

Scattered Thoughts: Reasons Why This Day Sucked

• I woke up at 4 AM. Enough said.

• I was driving along Rt 30 towards West Chester when I saw stuff animals scattered about the roadway. It looked like a plushie massacre. Normally I would be amused by this, but I kept wondering if these animals were meant for someone. Plus, there's something deep inside of me that says stuffed animals have feelings. I'm sentimental.

• After the stuffed animals, I was cruising down Rt 100 when I saw a turtle at the side of the road, holding his head high and lifting his leg to step into the busy highway. The next thing I knew I was pulled over about 200 yards away, speed-walking down the emergency shoulder of the road, eighteen-wheelers screaming by me, hurrying towards that little animal about the make a big mistake. Unfortunately, I got there too late. I suppose what really got me was how confident that turtle looked as he began his great adventure. The further I get from the event, the sadder I feel. I wouldn't be surprised if I cried myself to sleep over one naive animal. (One thing that made me laugh in spite of myself: I described how the turtle's blood looked on the pavement to my friend Jen-- thick, like scarlet acrylic paint. Ever the the sensitive type, she exclaimed: "So that's how they get red paint! They squeeze it out of turtles!" Evil.)

• I parked in the spot that Jen directed me to in her apartment's parking lot-- a spot that is actually hers. Yet, when I came out a few hours later, someone had left a note calling me a "shithead" with a rather elementary illustration on it. Sorry? I think the polite thing to do would have been to ask me to move, which I probably would have done, whether I had a right to the spot or not. I fear for the future if this is the level of discourse I have to deal with in the real world. I think I might laugh about this tomorrow.

Granted, it's not like someone physically hit me or I lost a family member or something. It's just that some days suck more than others. And this one suuuuuuuuuucked.

Here's hoping for better ones!

K.

Dear ANSWER,

We've had our ups and downs-- wait, no, only downs. I realized your crazy wacked-outness when I nearly got shot at one of your rallies. So, I really shouldn't be surprised at this latest weirdness, but, frankly, I am. You reached a new height of suckitude.

Let's talk Rachael Ray for a second. I don't like her. I find her annoying and ridiculous and am firmly in the Bourdain camp about her being a shill for Duckin' Donuts. On a normal day, you'll see that I have absolutely no sympathy for her.

Until this scarf incident. Seriously, are we still talking about this? The woman wears a scarf in a commercial that looks vaguely Arabic and suddenly she's branded a terrorist-sympathizer. Michelle Malkin, who is just below Ann Coulter in craziness, jumps all over the issue, which causes Duckin' Donuts to pull the ad. First, my comments on this.

Look at the scarf. I mean, look at it. This style of scarf is worn all over the world by people who want to see seem hip. I've seen them in the UK, in Europe, and even in China. They are Arab-style, yes, but have nothing to do with the checker board scarf that we often see on jihadists. Now, look at Ray again. Isn't that a paisley pattern? Ooh, beware of the Paisley Scourge!

Now, we could have let this nonsense fade away. But you, ANSWER, you self-righteous organization, you. YOU decide to call for a boycott on Duckin' Donuts for pulling the ad! Anti-Arab racism, my ass-- you're just looking for a fight! If this is the end-all of anti-Arabic propaganda by the Right in your eyes, then I would say that you have some real issues. Do something constructive, like create more Arab-American-friendly education for the public at large. Make some radio/TV/print ads. Do something that will make a difference!

I, for one, will make a difference right now. I'm going out for a Duckin' Donut. YUMMO!

K.

China Travel Journal: Day 2-- The Forbidden City, Capitol Normal University, and Duck Dinner

So begins my first full day in China. I'm not particularly proud of this entry, but I think that the scatteredness of the piece shows exactly how exhausted I was. Instead of going into too much description, I was pretty much listing what I saw and was told. I think this changes later.

14 May 2008

8:11 PM

Beijing

Woke up at 5 AM this morning, even though our wake up call was for 7. My jetlag is such that I'm quickly fading away while writing this, so excuse any incoherence on my part. Anyway, I was startled at the smog fog that hangs over the city. Another girl assured me that this was nothing the way of pollution, but I remain unconvinced. Whatever it was dried out my throat and lips and left my contacts begging for a long soak. I hope they'll be okay for tomorrow.

Breakfast at this hotel is an odd mix of Western and Eastern foods, all shoved awkwardly into a buffet. I settled for Coco Krispies; will be more adventurous tomorrow. Perhaps the buffet staff will pick a new album to play over the loud speaker since the Backstreet Boys don't really aid in digestion.

Dr. Cai then took us the the Forbidden City, which was very impressive indeed. I suppose that it took me a little while to square myself with the fact that I was actually walking beneath that giant portrait of Mao on the Tian'amen and then walking on the same bricks on which emperors once strode. The complex seemed never ending and very, very red. I suppose anyone reading this will have to forgive me, but I have to say that I was picturing that final fight scene from Mulan the entire time.

Tian'amen and the giant portrait of Mao.

The many curved roofs in the Forbidden City.

We were told that the two lions you see traditionally guarding many doorways in the City are not both male, despite the manes. The one holding the globe on the right is the male; the one on the left holding the baby is the female. Also, where the phoenix was paired with the dragon meant that this was the place that the empress inhabited. Finally, never refer to a Chinese man as a soft-shelled turtle, as that means he's being cuckolded. I know that last bit has nothing to do with anything, but it's an interesting fact.

A male lion guarding the door of the gate. He's the big stone guy in the background.

A relief of a dragon, the emperor's special symbol.

The phoenix, the empress's special symbol. She wasn't allowed to wander about the Forbidden City, so we can pretty much tell where she might have gone based on the location of the phoenixes.

A hard-shelled turtle, which is known for tenacity and bravery. Obviously not a soft-shelled turtle.

Again, we couldn't hold still for too long or pose for our own pictures-- the Chinese would quickly jump in. A few of us were standing for a good five minutes while at least ten jumped in and out of photos. I'm not sure if I should feel flattered or like a star of a freak show. Still, I know this could get irritating after a couple of days. Dr. Cai says that we have to learn how to say "Bu" (no), but they don't give you a chance. I really need to start charging.

A scene from the Forbidden City gardens. There is really no point to me including this. I just thought it was pretty.

I learned today that I'm a sucker for a sob story and am really horrendous at bargaining. I'm sure that's not going to come and bite me in the butt later. But carrying on...

After the City, we took out bus to the Capitol Normal University to hear Dr. Shorten give a lecture about water and sanitation. His speech was enlightening, but to us and the Chinese students who listened in. We engaged in a discussion afterwards in groups, though the topics were not limited to those of pollution and water conservation. I spoke pretty extensively to a bunch of English lit students, who seemed very interested in my studies and life in the US. One thing that I hadn't realized was so prevalent was young people picking out English names. I'm not sure how I feel about that. On one hand, they do seem to pick out their own names, which gives them meaning. On the other, perhaps we should be making an effort to learn their given names. I don't see why they should have to take on new names for the benefit of the West.

Speaking of East meets West, I had my first encountered with a Chinese toilet today. It's little more than a porcelain hole in the ground that you have to squat over. I've never wished harder to be a guy in my life. Ultimately, I had to visit the facilities twice-- once to get the feel for it, another to actually do the deed. As a kid, I used to be deathly afraid of public toilets. I would have never survived in China.

Our final stop was dinner for Beijing Duck, which is basically what they call crispy duck pancakes in the UK. Our hosts were the Chinese Universities Alumni Association, though the representatives at our table didn't have much to say. They did show us how to make a tasty duck taco, though.

Our duck dinner. I think it's a little gross that they served duck meat from a duck-shaped tray. Gross and morbidly funny.

K.

The Foody Philistine

In my lonely nighttime wanderings (it's still daytime for me, you know), I've been desperately looking for something to do. At 2 AM, I was watching a Home Improvement marathon. At 5 AM, I was eating a whole box of pizza. At 7 AM, I locked myself out of the house for 45 minutes with no bra or shoes. I've done nothing constructive.

I've finally found another book to read, though, conveniently stolen from my mother's Floor Library of Books Rarely Read. It's called The United States of Arugula (I think that's a veggie) and is one of those amusingly educational tomes about how our food culture has changed in America. I've perused the first few pages and have already developed some thoughts.

I'm a regular watcher of the Food Channel, if only to see Alton Brown and Marc Summers (we go way back). I also love those Food Network Challenges were masters in their field rush against the clock to create some wonderful culinary confections. Oooh, and Ace of Cakes. I love Ace of Cakes. Call me a nerd, but I adore the Food Channel.

Still, for all the time spent in front of the television, I'm still not a gourmet. Give me the simple. Don't make my grilled cheese with artisanal bread and brie. I don't want Kobe beef. And, dear Lord, don't put truffles in anything. I'm a simple girl with simple tastes.

Not that I won't try things. I've had my fair share of haggis, I've tried the 1,000 Year Old Egg (gak!), and I'm willing to give a shot to a local speciality even if it's not at all kosher. I'll eat the food for the experience, but I probably won't make it part of my daily diet.

So I'm a foody philistine. Eager to learn, but restrained when it comes to actually eating it.

K.

China Travel Journal: Day 1, Entry 2

Well, it's 5:30 AM in North America, but it's 5:30 PM for me. So instead of sleeping, I'm going to put up my second(?) entry in my China travel journal.

13 May 2008
9:14 PM

Beijing

I think the first thing you notice about Beijing is how clean it is. This seems like a contradictory statement to the one I made in the last entry, but it's true. When we left the airport, the sune was shining, the sky was clear, and, as Sara pointed out, there wasn't a single piece of trash on the ground. This last trait doesn't happen on its own, but is maintained by orange-jumpsuited people with litter picks and wheelbarrows. You get the feeling that Beijing is one giant organizsm that breathes with the revolutions of the millions of bicycle wheels that roam the streets. These orange people are like the good bacteria in Beijing's gut, digesting and moving the poisons that occur in a living city. I would say that they were like white blood cells, but the police here have that position covered-- there is at least one on every corner.

I was wondering if Beijing's infamous smog was just a rumor spread by its detractors, but, as I discovered when we went out for dinner, it isn't. I'm not sure where it came from, but there it was. It was hazy, like dew evaporating on a really hot day, but thi was a cool, dry afternoon. I fear that some of my pictures may not come out as crisp because of it.

Dr. Cai took us to a restaurant next door to our hotel, which served us lazy Susan-style. The amount of food was overwhelming-- crispy duck, stringbeans, fried bean paste (yum!), fried rice, pork, fish, ginger chicken, etc. I got schooled by a waitress twice on how to serve noodles with chopsticks. She seemed to have a sixth sense for whenever I would reach for the noodle bowl. Dinner ended with Sara gnawing on a fried duck head. Just picture that.

Oh hey, you don't have to! Actually, upon looking longer on it, I think it's a chicken head. Sara stuck that thing in her mouth, prounced it "chewy,' then spat it out into a napkin.

After dinner, Dr. Cai led us to Tian'amen Square to see the flag being lowered. Unfortunately, we soon became the main attractions. I'm not sure why we didn't see this coming, being a group consisting of several blondes and two African Americans among others, but we soon became aware of people staring at us and secretively snapping pictures. Girls came right out and posed with some of our boys, but the men stood back and creepily tapes us with camera phones. Right now, I'd just like to ask all the Amish I've ever watched on the road to forgive me-- I didn't know how weird and uncomfortable that is until now. I wouldn't mind if someone just asked us for a picture (an Olympic volunteer did just that), but don't treat me like an animal in a zoo. The only people I don't mind staring are the kids because they smile at you if you wave. Oh well, different culture.

A police officer in front of Tian'amen at dusk.

Watched some CCTV today. Most of the coverage was on the quake in Sichuan on Monday. Apparently there is no electricity or drinking water at the moment, which will probably contribute to health issues in the next few weeks. Sad.

K.

PS. Before I continue on with these entries, know that I can't spell. That's all.

China Travel Journal: An Introduction

Since I actually took this trip to China in order to fulfill six course credits, I actually had to do some school work while I was there. One of the requirements was to keep a travel journal where you recorded your thoughts about the environment, medical facilities, school culture, and just your general experiences. So I spent quite a bit of time grinding out these entries.

However, there is something that the reader should know. Going into this trip, I knew very little about China. Yes, I read articles and books to bone up on the culture and the topics my classes covered (the environment, medicine, education, etc), but all of my opinions were distinctly American. Really, you can't expect anymore than that. After all, my information came through a Western lense. This is obvious in my first couple entries when I was trying to get a handle on China. I think that this generally changes throughout the journal, but you'll have to make that decision for yourself.

All of the opinions expressed in these entries are my own. Feel free to comment or ask questions. I will answer to the best of my ability.

And so, we begin...

13 May 2008
10:05 AM (Beijing time)
Somewhere over Russia

I'm not sure if I'm totally mentally prepared for where I'm going. One plane is much like another (excepting the food, which can make or break the whole experience), so I might as well be flying to a country that I know well rather than the unknown. And I have a feeling that no matter how much reading I do on the subject of Chinese culture, I'll be almost catatonic with culture shock. I'll survive, of course-- I always do. Still, on a plane you're given little to do but wonder.

I've tried to occupy my time by reading some of the environmental articles, but the sheer number of statistics and scientific abbreviations has blown my English major's mind. I think the meaning that I'm supposed to glean is hidden between these numbers, but I haven't found it yet. Thre is a reason that I barely passed any science classes. :) However, I've become aware of just how unstable environmentally China is. I'm surprised that the entire country just hasn't imploded in on itseld in a puff of coal dust and CFCs. Floods, landslides, dust storms, water shortages, the disappearance of rivers-- that's quite a list. I wonder what the regualr Chinese citizen thinks of all of this. Would he or she be so used to it tht it ceasese to make an impact on the general thought process? Or is her or she poised to become an international spokes person about the dangers of misused resources? Also, what the hell was the IOC thinking when they awarded the 2008 Olympics to Beijing, which apparently suffers from debilitating dust storms that limit visibility to near zero? How many athletes are going to risk their healths and athletic careers to compete here?

I suppose these questions will be answered for me at some point-- if I remember to ask them, anyway.

K.

Some Good News!

Hey all.

I just got back from China yesterday. Still rather exhausted, but I will be posting my travel journal up here, complete with pictures, very soon.

And now the good news: My poem "The Kimono" has been accepted for publication in The Swarthmore Literary Review online issue. Color me excited!

K.

Scattered Thoughts: Stressful Times

-- Going to China on Monday. And holy crap, I am not ready.

-- "Graduation" today. Okay, so I don't technically graduate until August, but I do walk across that stage today, wearing tons of bling.

-- I'm worried about my grades. I didn't do so well this semester. :(

-- Stepped on my glasses yesterday. Feeling pretty shitty about that.

-- One bright stop-- that interview in New York went really well. I hesitate to mention what the exact company is for legal and jinx-ing reasons, but it's terribly exciting.

Boo-urns. Have a great few weeks, everybody!

K.

Entertained By So Little

Possibly one of the finest sentences I have ever concocted for a college paper:

"Indeed, based on the reports of Addison and Steele, the streets must have been fairly frothing with giggling confections of silk and curled hair, wafting past more domesticated women on the breezes made by their own vibrating fans."

Verily, I am a beast.

K.

A Gentlemen's Duel

Dear Internet,

Why is this video not being shown on movie screens everywhere? Absolutely one of the best things I've seen in a long time.

Loooooove,

Kate

Miley's memoir makes me mad

Dear World,

Granted, Miley Cyrus has done quite a bit more than I have, but seriously, a memoir? The kid is fifteen-- how much can she have to say?

Until she wins the Nobel Prize, she has no reason to pen the memories of her short life and that will only happen when episodes of Hannah Montana are found to magically cure cancer and deflect asteroids hurtling towards Earth.

But, then again, Yassir Arafat managed to bag a Nobel Prize-- so I guess anything can happen on that committee.

Hugs and Kisses,

K.

An open letter to the politicans now leaving Pennsylvania

Dear politicians,

Well, another polling day over and another spotlight fading on our great state. I'm in class, but I've been spying on the CNN website for about half an hour now. Clinton is projected to win.

I'm not sure whether I like that PA is so often invaded by politicians. Sure, I've gotten to see the likes of John Edwards, John Kerry, Bill Clinton, and Barack Obama over the years, but the visits seem insincere. Tomorrow, they'll all be gone, like a one-night stand picked up from a truck stop who gives you herpes, vomits all over your bathroom, and is gone in the morning, leaving you to clean up and apply the ointment. You might look back fondly on the encounter in your weaker moments, but the persistent itching in no-no places brings you back to your senses.

So, goodbye, politicians! I'll be half-praying that we won't be a swing state this year so you don't dirty our bedsheets again.

Love,

K.

The Crappiest Catch

Dear "Deadliest Catch" guys,

Watching you guys makes me wonder whether our taste for crab is really worth the cost. I'm sure a bunch of you are adventure-seeking maniacs, but, really. I don't think Chesapeake Bay blue crab fishermen have to deal with this kind of crap-- their dangers really focus around the pollution affecting the blue population.

Do you want me to tell my brother to lay off the king crab legs? 'Cause I'll do it, if you want.

Seriously.

K.

PS. Yeah, so I doubt this will happen. I'm thinking the adventure-seeking maniacs in you are going to win out.

A Series of Political Letters

Dear Chris Matthews,

Surprisingly, you seem really nice in person. I've always thought that you are a bit of a douche on your show, but you are actually kind of cool. You have a great rapport with the audience, which I wasn't expecting. You even brought your daughter up on stage to meet Obama-- pretty cool.

Now, to business-- Chris, let me tell you, are those seriously hardball questions? Man, Obama has answered all of those questions twenty times over and he's not going to say anything new. Make him sweat, make him think. The man is terribly clever and he can totally handle it. I just would have liked to hear things that haven't been repeated over and over in the media.

Also, can you talk to your colleagues at MSNBC for me? When I came back from the show, I happened to stumble across a discussion with those talking heads, discussing the WCU taping. You were gushing about how he connected to the students, then they deleted your screen and started talking about Obama's dismal performance at the western PA bowling alley. Can he connect with the +50 voters if he can't bowl blah blah blah? Geez, guys! I don't think anybody would have given it a second thought if you all hadn't blown it all out a proportion! Honestly, I find that silly failures like that humanizing. Remember when Dubya fell off the Segway? To me, it made him seem less like an elitist asshole and more like a guy who has issues with technology. I'm still not his biggest fan, but I can at least admit that. Can we just give it a break and get back to the issues? kthanx

Sincerely,

K.


Dear Barack Obama,

I'm still undecided, but I think you did a great job. Granted, you had a few too many softball questions, but you are a consummate showman and worked this crowd of college students like a rented mule. I thought girls (and guys) were going to throw their panties up on stage.

My only complaint is that you spoke so quietly-- up here in the nosebleed seats, we heard about every fourth word. Again, not really your fault. You don't use speech volumes when you're on a question and answer program. Still :(.

Sincerely,

K.

Google is the King of April Fools'

Dear Google,

Your new April Fools' page is brilliant. May I come and work for you? Please?

Love,

K.

I Got a Crimson Ticket!

For someone who is saying that she is undecided, I certainly made quite a statement when I stood for two hours in the rain to get Obama tickets. In my defense, I quietly deflected Obama lackeys who wanted me to commit now by letting me know that I haven't made a decision-- which earned me some dirty looks. Whatever, there were Republicans behind me. Go bother them.

After a bone-chilling wait in the misty weather, I finally seized ticket number 319. I can't find my camera, so here is a reasonable facsimile of the "crimson" ticket:

And by "reasonable," I mean horrific.

Tune in on Wednesday, April 2, at 5 PM to MSNBC's "Hardball" to see me try to ask Obama a question. No, seriously, there are things I need to know!

K.

Obama Update

Confirmed!

Chris Matthews (MSNBC) is interviewing Obama at the West Chester University campus. Look for me, I'll be the one sobbing like a little girl.

K.

Squee!

Obama + my campus + secrecy = I'm sooo there!

K.

PS. Still not sure if I'm voting for him, but he has the voice of an angel.

Song Lists for My Own Entertainment

Having sort of made a commitment to at least do some lists this month, I decided to go through the 94 songs on my "To Hell With Alphabetical Order" playlist on my iPod and categorize some of them. So here they are... top five in no particular order.

Sexy songs

Hello Again --Neil Diamond
I'd Love You to Want Me --Lobo
Slow Dancing --Johnny Rivers
Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin' --Journey
My Doorbell --White Stripes

Uplifting Songs

Forever Young --Rod Stewart
We're All in This Together --Ben Lee
Beautiful World --Colin Hay
Merry-Go-Round --Antje Duvekot
New Soul --Yael Naim

Songs that have been my ringtones

Travelin' Band --CCR
Get Rhythm --Johnny Cash
Call on Me --Eric Prydz
Don't Stop Believing --Journey
Uhm, I don't have a fifth. I fail.

Songs that make me laugh every time

Mystery --Hugh Laurie
Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road --Loudon Wainwright III
Hey Jude --Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry
Everyone's a Little Bit Racist --Avenue Q
Long-Legged Guitar-Pickin' Man --Johnny Cash and June Carter

Songs for depression

Schadenfreude -Avenue Q
Teenage Wasteland --The Who
Sunshine (Go Away Today) --Jonathan Edwards
Operator --Jim Croce
It Don't Come Easy --Ringo Starr
Keep on Trying --Poco

Songs that make me do silly dances

Ramblin' Man --Allman Brothers Band
Sweet Transvestite --Rocky Horror Picture Show
My Maria --B. W. Stevenson
Don't Stop Believing --Journey
Girls Just Want to Have Fun --Cindy Lauper

Songs that transport me somewhere else

Back in the USSR --The Beatles
Hold On --Wilson Phillips
I Wish I Was a Punk Rocker --Sandi Thom
Rehab --Amy Winehouse
I've Been Everywhere --Johnny Cash

Songs that explain me

Cool Change --Little River Band
It Sucks to Be Me --Avenue Q
Beautiful World --Colin Hay
Doctor My Eyes --Jackson Browne
Get Rhythm --Johnny Cash

K.

Not So Revolutionary Thoughts on "John Adams"

I just finished watching the first episode of the new HBO ministry "John Adams"* and found myself pleasantly surprised. I'm not sure what I was expecting-- I grew up on the 1956 movie "Williamsburg: Story of a Patriot" from my multiple trips to the Colonial Williamsburg visitors center. It was from this film that I learned that men should not be trusted to choose ladies hats unattended, George Washington could crack a walnut between his thumb and forefinger, and the meaning of the word "pusillanimous" from that most brilliant orator, Patrick Henry**. My second Revolutionary film staple was "1776," in which I learned that Philadelphia was mighty warm that summer ("It's ninety degrees/Have mercy, John, please/'Cause it's hot as hell in Philadelphia!"), that John Adams was "obnoxious and disliked" ("Did you know that?" "I hadn't heard."), and that Mrs. Jefferson found ol' Tom's violin mighty sexy. Pretty unimportant stuff, over all.

Frankly, I'm ashamed to admit that when I picture John Adams, it's as William Daniels (aka Mr. Feeny from "Boy Meets World"). In reality, John Adams looked more like this. And between Paul Giamati and Daniels, I think Giamati has the look down a little better. Instead of the trim, nattily dressed little man from "1776," we see Adams as pudgy and with a receding hairline beneath his wig. Giamati plays him as a dispassionate man searching for justice, whether it be for his own New Englanders or representatives of the Crown. A man who refuses to choose a side until he feels that basic human dignities have been wronged. A man, in short, that we could sorely use in today's world.

The show doesn't present the Revolution we learned in elementary school. Instead of the murder of innocent Bostonians, the Boston Massacre is portrayed as instigated by a violent mob and the soldiers as scared boys who are far from home. Later, a customs officer is stripped naked, then tarred and feathered. I found this scene particularly horrific. I'm not sure what I expected-- how could I not realize that to be tarred means to having molten liquid poured on the bare skin and hardening to a shell? It seems to obvious to be now. I remember being back in elementary school learning about the practice and thinking how silly that sounded, like a bit of fun. Who wouldn't laugh at a guy covered in feathers being carried out on a log like some absurd parade float? But the agonized arch the man's body made as his skin sizzled beneath the tar has banished those airy thoughts altogether. I trust I will not be abused for admitting that I cried a little.

I think this show has something to say about our times-- that not everything is black and white. This may be the most obvious of observations, but it bears mentioning. We hear about events in far away places and it is easy to place sides in tidy boxes of right and wrong. Indeed, passion makes it even simpler to smudge the line between truth and fiction to fit a certain viewpoint. Perhaps we should be a bit more like John Adams and take the time to scrutinized both sides, witness both the beautiful and terrifying nature of each issue before making a choice. Some choices seem instinctual, but is there really a difference between instinct and primitive urges? Isn't rational thought the thing that makes us most human?

This is quite disjointed, but this blog was never meant to present precise arguments or coherent thoughts. I save those for graded assignments.

I look forward to the next episode when Adams ventures to Philadelphia. And I swear to G-d, if there is singing, someone is going to die.

K.

* This is not a review; I suck at that game.

* *The phrase "Are we so meek and pusillanimous?" became my favorite line for a period of about three years during my elementary school career. It made me very popular on the playground.

That Most Vicious Disease

It appears that my trip to China is almost a reality. But first I have to get over this horrific case of senioritis that is absolutely decimating my will to go on.

Does anyone have any tips on how to survive for a few more months?

K.

Taken Out of Context

Again, a quick note as I am in the computer lab waiting for my lunch date to show up.

I was in my Power, Politics, and Propaganda class about half an hour ago where we had just received a hand-out about tropes and figures of speech. In addition, we were given Obama's speech that he made in Philadelphia yesterday and told to analyze it for the rhetorical points we had just discussed. After we were given five minutes of reading time, we splintered into groups.

Having read and underlined bits of the speech, I turned around, confident that I would be able to discuss the piece in rhetorical terms. Unfortunately, my group never really made it that far.

"I didn't even read the damn thing," the boy behind me declared, almost proudly. "I can't stand that man." I tittered nervously, hoping to avoid a political discussion at nine in the morning, but the kid continued on, comparing Obama to Kennedy and prophesizing the candidate's clash with Russia. "Mark my words," he said, "we'll be at war with Russia in four years."

Alllllllllllright.

"Well, that aside, it was a good speech," I ventured.

"He's so charming and manipulative." This was said with a grimace of disgust. "And he's only a junior senator. I could be a junior senator tomorrow, if I wanted to!"

"Abraham Lincoln was only a junior senator," I murmured, but he ignored me. He continued on a tirade about the faults of Obama for another minute and a half. Then, as if he had forgotten something, he quickly blurted out, "Vote for Hillary."

Wait a second. Something was not right here. So I sat back, identifying tropes in the neglected speech while training my ears on his one-sided conversation. His politics didn't fit his political endorsement. A wait-and-see attitude about the war, conflicts with Russia, absolutely no mention of Hillary's record or political claims (despite throwing in a plug for her every so often)... this didn't fit the profile of a typical Hillary support, much less a Democrat.

It's my opinion that if I looked in the College Republicans' roll book, I would find this kid's name there. It makes quite a bit of sense that the Republicans on this campus feel that Hillary would not get elected if she fought directly against McCain. Therefore, it would be in their best interest if Clinton won the nomination. Ohhhhh, son, I have your number.

This blatant manipulation irritated me, but not as much as a political shouting match at a time when my brain was barely functioning. So I tried to push him away from politics and towards the speech.

"We can take this thing out of context and just analyze it. Can we please just do that?"

"You can't take it out of context," he huffed. "The context makes all of the difference!"

"No, it doesn't. Look at this part where he is repeating 'we can blah blah blah... we can blah blah blah"-- I just identified it as a rhetorical device without using the political part of the sentence!"

More blustering from him. Long story short, we never did get to analyze the speech.

I'll be so glad when this election year is over.

K.

PS. I'm still undecided, by the way. Pray that I can make a decision before April.

Here's to the American School System!

Have been absent lately, but PA's up-coming primary is bringing out all of the voter registration booths on campus. Was changing my party affiliation (closed primaries suck) when a kick came up to the table.

"Want to sign up?" the sweet young thing behind the table asked.

"Doesn't this sign me up for the war?"

Silence. The people working the registration stared. I dropped the pen. Crickets chirped.

Since no one else seemed like they wanted to say anything, squeaked, "What?"

"This signs me up for the war, right? Like, a draft?"

For some reason, I can't remember the end of the conversation, just that I wondered whether he remembered signing that piece of paper when he turned eighteen that actually did qualify him for the draft. And whether he thought the army was desperate enough to take me, the biggest wuss in America. One day in Iraq would have me the same hue as a boiled lobster, sand in my mouth, and sobbing because I've just seen a camel spider.

K.

Failed

Well, I had a post for yesterday, but it seems that the Clipper function on my Firefox browser sent it to a defunct blog I used for class only. I suppose the March Lists thing wasn't meant to be. :(

Just as well, probably.

K.

Sorry to Interrupt, But...

Suck it, Huckabee! Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

On the other hand, now I have no idea who to vote for in the PA primaries. At least there was always voting against the Huckster, but now I have to actually make a decision. Dammit, Super Tuesday, why did you fail me?

K.

A List of Today's Observations

I can't wait until March 4, 2056.

All I want to do is write 3/4/56. Of course, if I'm in some other part of the world, I'll have to wait until April.

My professor smells like old books.

It's only today that I've identified the smell. I want to follow her around all day and just sniff her hair.

There are three police cruisers sitting outside of my house, lights flashing.

It looks like an Israeli security check point out there, all for a little fender bender.

Kind of a lame post, but it's March and I need to make some damn lists.

K.

Top Five Places Where Cap'n Crunch Cereal Bits Are Currently Lodged

5. Down my shirt.

4. In the crease of my futon.

3. Between the "Q" and "tab" keys on my laptop.

2. In the pages of my textbook.

1. In my tummy. Dear G-d, too much Cap'n Crunch!

K.

Top Ten Things That Could Be Causing My Illness

10. A mix-up in medications (which is probably the correct diagnosis)

9. An overdose of toast and English muffins.

8. Too much emo over a lack of interesting television.

7. The stress of thinking of new lists to post for the month of March (notice how late this one is?)

6. An acute lack of parakeet playtime

5. Sitting in front of the microwave for a full hour while my matzah ball soup thawed (radiation!)

4. Blood clot from worrying whether I got published

3. Poisoning from the make-up I used to become an awesome Bowie-esque glam rocker on Friday

2. The price of fresh fruit these days

1. Inhalation of Febreze fumes

K.

The First

A List of Things I'd Rather Be Doing Than Sitting Around My Apartment Sick

-- Be some place sunny.

-- Keep something down for more than a few hours when I eat it.

-- Have one full night's sleep.

-- And, frankly, not making this list.

Hopefully I'll be in finer fettle tomorrow.

K.

How Many Times Do You Get to Post on Leap Day?

Once every four years, I suppose.

K.

Well, That Was Different

While I should be doing other things, I thought I would stop by and share some of the interesting happenings of the week. Normally, I try not to be so absent, but it was unavoidable. So here's a short catch up.

• You already heard about my A. Nothing makes your day like an A. They need to bottle it and sell it as an anti-depressant.

• I had an interview with an initiate yesterday that turned into a two-hour religious discussion. The kid was a Born Again and, by definition, they like to talk about their experiences in religion. I, by definition, like to listen. So I leaned my chin on my knuckles and looked pensive for a good long time. It's not that I wasn't paying attention-- it's just that I had heard it all before. I then shared my philosophy-- that I wasn't arrogant enough to say that there is no G-d (though I kept that I wasn't arrogant enough to say that there definitely was, either. Some things you just keep to yourself) and that, frankly, I have no idea about anything. And I'm happy with that. The initiate then asked me a startling question:

"But aren't you afraid?"

"Afraid of what?"

"Of what happens after you die."

That pulled me up short. I guess I had never been asked that. I know that I've never
been asked that. So I was honest. I told him that no, I was not afraid. What I didn't tell him was that he just said a lot about himself in that single question. He had just told me that, while he had been expounding the joys of G-d and Christ, he believed because he was afraid. And that made me sad.

For the record, I used to be afraid when I was younger. But I now figure that everyone I love will be wherever I am, be that Hell, blackness, or something I can't comprehend. Nobody in my life that I absolutely couldn't live without believe the same thing as this initiate, so it seems to me that whatever happens couldn't be that bad.

• In Tai Chi class, my instructor brought up "filling the well," which immediately brought to mind Chelsea Talks Smack's wonderful post about her playdate with herself. Some things are just meant to be, I suppose. Of course, my friend ruined the moment by saying that having our own playdate equaled the phrase "playing with ourselves." Real cute.

• Finally, my father was dropping a van-load of Israelis off at the Philly airport tonight and decided to drop in on me at our campus Starbucks. I knew that he was coming, but I was looking in the totally wrong direction, which meant I made that awkward squealing noise when he surprised me. Being the awesome dad that he is, he bought everyone I was with overpriced coffee drinks. I love him.

Yeah, that was my week.

K.

An A for Awesome

I had a conference with my seminar professor today to discuss my first paper and was pleasantly surprised. Turns out that I got a 94%. Yay for me.

What is interesting is that I never got this kind of grade when I wrote research papers in high school. In fact, I don't think I ever got more than an 85% on any critical paper in those days. Now, I'm pulling papers out of my butt and getting A's. Either I went to the hardest public high school in the US or I've become and paper goddess.

K.

Well, Bugger

A sight truly indicative of the day I am having:

Me, sitting alone in the student union, reading a Holocaust textbook and eating a piece of pizza.

Dear G-d, when will it end?

K.

Does This Make Me Famous By Association?

The screenshot is tiny, but that circled girl is a brother from my chapter of Phi Sigma Pi, a real peach of a girl with Broadway ambitions. The actual trailer for M. Night's newest movie is here. The scene is in the very beginning. Movie looks terrible, but I love this girl, so I will be going to see it.

Oh, and this is my 200th post. It's been an obscenely long time coming.

K.

Feeling the Blues on a Snow Day

After watching The Blue Brothers with my neighbor today, I've decided that if I ever go for my doctorate I would write my dissertation about said movie and our society's ability to ignore the extraordinary things that happen everyday. There are seventy billion explosions and wild car chases in that occur in that movie and nobody comments on them. After I mentioned it to my neighbor, she agreed that it would make a bitchin' dissertation. Now I just have to find a program that would accept it.

And now, one of my favorite clips from one of my favorite "bands":



Dance, blues man, dance!

K.

PS. Yay, snow days!

Cheese it! It's the Cops!

I wish it wasn't so cold out-- then I could walk across my parking lot to find out why there are so many police cruisers outside my building. I should be typing my paper, but when you hear someone talking over cruiser speakers, you can't just sit and think about the religious implications of Eudora Welty's short stories. No, you get up, open your window, and squint really hard at the street because you've taken out your contacts and can't be assed to put them back in for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, giant flashing blurs don't excitement make, so you go back to your computer, disappointed, and try to rub some warmth back into your figures.

Then you figure that you could read the safety report that's bound to come out of this mess and save yourself some trouble.

At least, that's what I would do.


K.

Jaw Dropping

I've been watching the television show "Bones" lately and it's occurred to me that seemingly every corpse they find has its mouth wide open. It's like the skull forced out one final, silent scream. I'm sure that this is caused by the muscles bracing the jaw bone rotting away and leaving the jaw to sway in the wind, but... eww. It just seems so undignified.

If I'm buried after my death and someone digs me up centuries later, my jaw is going to be hanging to my sternum. Does that bother anyone else?

K.

Smelling Scotland

A strange thing happened to me today.

I walked out of Main Hall and I smelled Scotland.

If it hadn't been for the push of people at my back, I probably would have followed my natural inclination and just stopped, closed my eyes, and breathe. But people have places to be, so I decided not to indulge, but walk towards Recitation Hall, sniffing.

It had rained earlier that morning. While was in class, the sun had come out briefly to warm the grass and allow the rainwater to just begin to vaporize. I think this is what I smelled: the intensely green, warm scent that only comes from a damp country with momentary peeks of sunlight.

I think if I had let a picture form in my mind to correspond with the smell, it would have been walking over the loch bridge at the University of Stirling, on my way to the bookstore, bus stop, or what have you. That view was like Scotland in my front yard-- lochs, hills, and green green green. Frankly, I'm disappointed that I didn't just stop. At the risk of sounding overly sensitive, I probably would have teared up a little. I guess I just miss my life there, even if it's far away from the people and sights that I need to survive emotionally.

For those that want to see what I see, go here. It's not exact, but you can get the idea.

I want to go home-- I'm just not sure what home I want to go to.

K.

Running Without the Benefit

Last night, I had a dream where my family and I were staying on some island that was suddenly taken over by Nazis. I know that I spent most of my dream screaming at my family, trying to get them to escape, though they insisted on staying the rest of the night and fleeing in the morning. I believe that we did actually get out alive, which is nice, I guess.

My reason for posting this dream isn't really the dream itself, but the aftermath. I often have these strange, almost violent dreams where I'm running or screaming or getting out of breath in some way. When I wake up, the covers are on the floor and I'm usually missing a pillow or two. And very, very tired.

I sometimes wonder if I've been running in my sleep, much like a hyperactive dog does while he dreams. My father has told me that once, during a vacation, I sat up in bed and screeched, "No! Stop! STOP!" (I still remember that dream, incidentally. It involved George W. Bush shooting at a bunch of us executioner-style. I even recall shouting. I don't think that this dream has any symbolic meaning-- Bush was probably on the TV right before I went to sleep. It could just have easily have been Anderson Cooper taking aim at me, which would have been much sexier.) So it seems to me that if I could have used enough muscles to sit up and scream, then I very possibly be running while horizontal.

I find this really irritating. I dislike the idea of waking up more tired than when I went to sleep. It seems like a waste of time and, frankly, counterproductive. And how exactly can I tell my professors that I've been vigorously exercising in my dreams, therefore, I can't pay attention to the implications of propaganda on our society? Nobody's going to buy it.

If you have any ideas short of drugging me to help me get a restful night's sleep, please let me know. I would hate to have a dream about running the marathon, only to find myself unable to get out bed for days because my body has run 26 miles through the bed sheets.

K.

PS. Posts until 200: 5

Digital Pick Me Ups

As you other single people know, today was Valentine's Day, which means I basically stayed inside. The only VD (is it a coincidence that Valentine's Day and venereal disease start with the same letters? I think not.) input I got was from the ever-classy Jerry Springer Show, where they had an overweight transsexual dressed as a bikini-clad cupid. That's really all I needed.

But there was one thing that made it even better... one e-mail.

"Hey kate! I wanted to wish you a happy valentine's day. The fam misses you over here in little old york. Hope to see you again soon! Your bro, A."

I think my little brother's girlfriend is a good influence on him. I still haven't decided whether he absolutely needed to write both his first name and his last name in his e-mail. I've only known him 18 years, after all. But still, it was sweet.

I also received an e-mail from the NaBloPoMo people announcing that there will be monthly NaBloPoMos, just subject related. March is list month. I just might participate, if only for my love of lists.

Anyone else?

K.

PS. Posts Until 200: 6

Scattered Thought: Ugh!

• I think that I have to accept that my parakeet is a girl bird. She doesn't talk and her cere is brown-- hallmarks of a female budgie. I know that doesn't change her personality at all, but I've already begun being more conscious of the trouble she gets herself into. Pure gender role bullshit on my part. I'm no bra-burner, but I don't want to start treating this bird differently because she now has ovaries. What a dumb thing to worry about when...

• ... I have started the job search, which already has become soul-crushing. I have a list of about 45 publishing companies, but any thought of sending out resumes and cover letters makes me want to break into hysterics. This is complicated by...

• ... the fact that my brother seems to have found a girlfriend. I'm feeling a fair amount of jealousy, which is ridiculous for an older sister, much less a 22 year old. I'm not sure whether I'm irritated that I come home so rarely and never get a chance to see the kid or that he has a relationship and I don't. Again, that's a stupid reason. I've had plenty of chances, but I suppose that it's mainly fear that has kept me single forever. I can venture to the other side of the world by myself, but I can't commit to giving up all of my time and energies to a guy. Speaking of traveling...

• ... it's pretty much certain that I'm going to China in May. My university is offering a class about global health, environmental, and education issues and, well, I need one more class to graduate. And if I can get that done in two weeks and in China, then so much the better. The whole thing, including tuition, will probably cost me up to $6,000, all of which I'll be paying by myself with savings from my birth and bat mitzvah. It's exciting, but a tad scary. Still, I'll probably never get to China on my own and I need something to look forward to. It also helps that my family is going to Israel mere weeks after I return from the Orient (probably the last family vacation we'll ever have), but...

• ... unfortunately, our Israeli friends are dealing with a seriously sick child. The poor kid is five years old and has recently had to undergo a spinal tap and hospitalization. They are thinking meningitis, but it's hard to be certain. I'm not a real believer, but these people are observant Jews and would probably appreciate a few well-placed prayers. If you feel so inclined, maybe ask the Big Guy (or Girl... or Non-Gender-Specific-Being) to consider being kind of merciful on this kid? He's sweet.

Yeah, that's it.

K.

PS. Posts left until 200: 8

Who is Going to China in May?

Oh yeah, it's me.

More information as it becomes available.

K

PS. Number of posts to 200: 9

To Podcast or Not to Podcast

When I should have been doing work, I was browsing the 'net in my favorite place on my futon and my favorite mode of dress-- no pants (and by no pants, I mean no trousers). The laptop warms my legs, you wanna make something of it?

Anyway, I came across MyPodcast.com, a hosting service for, well, podcasts. As it happens whenever I discover new things, I got exceptionally excited. My mouse was just hovering over "Create Account" button when I thought, "What the hell would I say?"

And what would I say? Here is the transcript of one possible podcast:

"Hey there! It's Kate again. And... uhm... how are you, I guess? I know you can't answer me personally, but ah I guess if you just say it out loud, it's like talking to me. I guess. Um, so... uh, it's rainy outside. Or at least it was this morning. But I slept through it, I think. I walked outside and the ground was wet and the sun was out, but there rain in the air, you know how that is? Uhm, ooooookaaaaaay. What else? Whatelesewhatelsewhatelse..."

Yep, that would be me.

See, the thing is that typing out a blog post gives me time to think. There may be some run-on sentences or random pauses, but those are mostly intentional. I don't a podcast for me would be a very good idea.

Anyone else thought about it?

K.

PS. Countdown to 200 posts: 10

One More Thing...

A conversation between two New Yorkers in the Rock Cafe at Rockefeller Square.

Woman: I can't watch the Super Bowl.

Man: How can you not watch the Super Bowl?

Woman: Can you go shoe shopping for eight hours and not by anything?

Man: Good point.

Somehow I managed to catch the New Yorkiest conversation ever.

K.

Trust the Koreans to Come Up With This

I'm not sure if I will ever eat eggs again.

K.

Snail Mail Sunday (Done on a Monday) #6

Dear blogosphere,

Do this!

Bloggers, stand up and be counted! Take the “Public and Private in the Blogosphere” Survey!

Thanks!

K.

13 Things That I Have Done That Are Pretty Awesome

Another meme, this time from A G33k Tragedy!

13 Things That I Have Done That Are Pretty Awesome

1) I have traveled to Israel and Scotland by myself and survived.
2) I've been published and am still sending out material. True, my Wall o' Rejection is growing, but that's an achievement in itself.
3) Decided to go the AWP Conference, planned most of it, and ended up going by myself (again).
4) Went to a Billy Joel concert.
5) I have friends on 5 out of 7 continents, all met on study abroad.
6) Put all of myself into the organizations I have joined.
7) Taught Israeli soldiers how to play Red Rover at a Bedouin camp under the stars.
8) Climbed Masada and seen the sun rise.
9) Had the worst travel experience ever... and survived!
10) Have survived for most of the school year in my first apartment.
11) I've kept up this blog for nearly three years more than I thought I would.
12) Planned and executed my own Burns' Night for my fraternity.
13) Got great grades at the University of Stirling, all while taking the hardest classes I've ever experienced!

Wow, that felt like filling out a resume.

I'll tag Irina, Rachel, and Gwyn. Fill it out if you wanna!

K.

A New York Post in Numbers

(This keyboard is crap, so this will be short.)

"Big Time" speakers seen at convention: 3 (John Irving, Frank McCourt, and Bill Collins)

Celebrities seen: 1 (Clay Aiken coming out of "Spamalot")

Broadway plays seen: 1 ("Avenue Q")

Blocks walked: Eleventy billion

K.

Scattered Thoughts: New York and AWP Conference

• I honestly can't get comfortable in this city. I feel like everyone knows the moves to an intricate ballet and I happened to miss the particular dance class that taught balance and self-awareness. New Yorkers seem to have an extra sense-- a sense of movement, speed, and intuition. I try not to do the typical "stare-blindly-up" neck crane that is the international sign of the tourist (though I had to do it at the Rockefeller Center-- sorry), but I still stick out.

• One thing that I will say about New York is that it's Jewapalooza here. My father and I were cramming down cold fried plantains at the 53rd Street Deli when this older couple sat beside us, excusing themselves in perfect New York accents. They then launched into a conversation to themselves-- in Hebrew. We stumbled into the Diamond District, running into Israelis and black-frocked men in a stunning array of wide-brimmed hats. Ah, my people!

• I attended two seminars today. One was on blogging and its affects on writing and the teaching of writing. I found it interesting that many older people wished to set up their own blogs as a self-marketing scheme, but had little to no idea on how to go about it. It's a strange feeling knowing more than some of these venerable gray hairs, especially those who can afford AWP memberships. Exciting, actually. The second seminar was about historical fiction, which I love to read. I now have four more books that I have to buy.

• My parents decided that I should have business cards for this event, but promptly forgot to make them. So while I was being lectured at, my father was searching for a printing service to make up some simple ones. I don't know when I'm going to use them, but it feels professional in a way.

• The Hilton has really odd-looking chairs. I suppose that it's meant to be classy, but it would be a lot classier if the gold roping was actually attached to the chair, not suspended in a plastic sheath. It rather looks like those cheap strings of light bulbs you can find in college dorm rooms. Very distracting.

• Unfortunately, the Hilton has a really awkward elevator system. I'm sure it works for them, but it's awful for me. So many people are waiting and the elevators are never there when you want them. When I was trying to get to the lobby, I pressed the 'down' button and waited. And waited. And waited... until finally, an elevator arrived. An older woman got out, but then proceeded to stand in the doorway, talking to someone still in the elevator. Politely, I waited for her to get by, but as soon as she moved, the doors began to close. With an undignified yelp, I tried to launch my arm between the closing doors, but they didn't bounce back like I expected. So the elevator I had waited so patiently for slid through my grasp. The lady must have heard my irritated sigh, because she apologized and beat a hasty retreat. She's lucky that I was in a bit of a stunned stupor; I might have popped her one otherwise.

• Going to see John Irving speak tonight. E.L. Doctorow tomorrow afternoon. Will be missing Frank McCourt on Saturday, which is sad.

• Time to pass out now.

K.

Does Going to the AWP Conference Make Me That Much More Awesome?

Yes. Yes, I think it does.

Anyone else in New York?

K.