Archive for March, 2011

in for a penny, in for a pound

Have you seen Black Swan? If not, go see it now.  And not (just) for the lesbian sex! It is just a really good movie. And emotional. And powerful. And uncomfortable in a good way. And go see it now.

Oh, and did you know that I have a tumblr ? ( a tumblelog, even) I haven’t really sorted out a purpose for it yet, but it’s kind of fun. Mostly pictures and quotes and stuff.  Perhaps you want to check it out.  And if you use tumblr too, you should direct me to yours, because I follow an embarrassingly small number of people (because I only follow friends, as of now. And while I am approachable, I try to be snarky enough to avoid having too many friends).

One recent post (okay, the most recent post as of this writing) was a poem I read today. You may know that  I adore e.e. cumming’s poetry.  Somehow I never read (or perhaps just never fully appreciated this poem).  Or maybe this ridiculous poetry class I’m taking has gone to my head.

a total stranger one black day
knocked living the hell out of me-- 

who found forgiveness hard because
my(as it happened)self he was 

-but now that fiend and i are such
immortal friends the other's each

It’s pretty much a constant journey–forgiving one’s self and generally quieting the inner battle that goes on inside of us. But I’m not really sure if you really should be friends with yourself.  [*aside* In high school, I took a class with a description: “learn to be your own best friend.” We watched lots of Lifetime movies, made collages, and had a more in depth sex-ed than I would guess most anyone else in the Midwest.]  But of course you don’t want to be attacking yourself or too slow to forgive.  I guess it’s really hard to describe the sort of relationship you should have with yourself.  For one, you’re only one person.  I was at first tempted to suggest a frenemy sort of interaction, but that’s generally characterized by pettiness and passive aggression–not the makings of a good relationship.  Maybe it’s my definition of friend that faltered initially.  In fact, I’m fairly certain that is the case.  I was taking ‘friend’ to mean someone who unconditionally agrees and allows you to get away with anything.  But a true friend challenges you to be your best, and can point out when something needs to change.  That friend will also be forgiving and supportive.  Okay, maybe you should be your own best friend. e.e. cummings, you’ve convinced me.

In other news: weird-o dreamland is back!  Sometimes I’ll go for what seems like forever without remembering a dream.  This weekend, I had multiple memorable ones a night.  I should probably just start posting my dreams since they’re more interesting than my life. I’m also pretty interested in dream analysis. A few highlights from this weekend’s batch:

  • drinking a beer which changed from a Sam Adams Boston Lager (which I don’t like) to a Sam Adams “Indiana Ale” (yes, Indiana, not Indian) when I remarked that I liked the beer and went to read the label
  • having all the windows in my house shatter
  • finding that Professor McGonagall had broken into my friend’s house along with a mutual friend of his and mine
  • deciding to take econometrics halfway through the semester and cuddling with the professor
  • experiencing actual pain, and making it go away with advil (I can’t remember feeling pain in a dream before)
  • meeting Professor Dixon but waking up too soon to ask him the SUPER IMPORTANT linguistics question I had

And searching some key words in an online dream dictionary:

  • you are punishing yourself over a useless cause or inconsequential action on your part
  • need for physical and/or emotional contact.
  • happiness, fogginess, or inspiration. It also indicates that you have quite a social life
  • a metaphor that you are literally at your breaking point.
  • you need to start preparing for the real world.
  • your character is being questioned. You feel the need to defend yourself. You are feeling stressed, vulnerable and helpless.
  • You are expressing your satisfaction with life. Alternatively, the dream may be giving approval to move forward with some decision or action

I feel a little awkward about how… unpleasant most of those are.  But I love that it says I’m happy and inspired and satisfied with a social life! Phew! So… crazy stress but in the end I’m doing okay? I guess that’s good. :]


i do not answer the call if i do not know who is calling

What’s in a name? You probably already know that actually, names are super important. If you call a rose something other than a rose, it doesn’t smell as sweet (unless you, like me, don’t like the smell of roses–in that case you may may make it smell better).  I’m studying philosophy of language this semester and a lot of it has to do with naming of people and objects. Does the name have meaning? Does the name define the object?

I, of course, have quite the experience with changing names.  I was Christy to the family, so up until high school I was pretty much always Christy, except when in trouble, of course.  Then I decided that gender ambiguity was more fun than a barrel of monkeys.  It started out online, and then I took the name with me to the real world (or meat space, if you use cooler lingo than I do).  But then I got sick of telling people who saw my name on a list that they could drop the last syllable.  And Christine felt pretty adult.  If you’ve never had a two syllable name at Starbucks, you might not know this, but it is pretty risky trying to get a drink with your name on it.   So Chris stuck for coffee orders.  Some folks (okay, I think one person) noticed that, and started calling me Chris. So now I’m Chris again, in some circles (ekzemple: Esperantujo).  Where did Tofer come from? That was from a  friend.  Who has also gone through Kristof, Tofur (it has tofu in it, so it’s funny), Christopher, and a variety of other names for me.  This is why you shouldn’t keep friends around so long (just kidding–<3 you, LB!).  Then of course when I’m feeling especially Esperanto-y, I’m Krisjo (mi ne ŝatas la nomon Krinjo.)

Nicknames can be great to differentiate people with the same name.  My phone is full of Matt/Matthews, Andy/Andrews, et cetera.  But I’ve never had to take on a nickname for that reason.  I’ve had Christinas and Tinas and Kristins and currently a Kirsten, but never a Christine. Now, however, I have a professor Christine.  “Why don’t you just call her Professor Surname?” Well, because she said to call her by first name. And the real confusion comes when the other professor (We have two professors for this course. Don’t ask me why. Or do ask, but I’ll have no answer for you. Unless I make up an awesome story for you.) talks about both of us in one sentence: “Christine and I were discussing_____, but then Christine asked______ and Christine brought up ________.” It’s exhausting.  So I offered to go by Chris.  Guess who else goes by Chris? >.< The good news? I couldn’t have been an omelet. (That’s pretty much all I’ve learned in this class that has thoroughly stuck)

Am I a terrible person for thinking it is absolutely hilarious that SAVVY (the veg group on campus) gave out gelatin containing gummy bears today? Sure, I’d have been severely pissed had I eaten them, but still, I about died of laughter when I got the apology email. You’d think that the judgemental folks there would have taken a few seconds to read the ingredients. And why gummy bears? If I were planning the event, I’d have put out something that’s always vegan, lest I give the impression that gummy bears are always (and clearly they aren’t) vegan. How about something like Swedish Fish? They’re gummy and gelatin free. I guess I am kind of a jerk, but my first introduction to these people was one gossiping about how so-and-so who claimed that he was a vegan was eating yogurt and how could he wear a pro-animal t-shirt when he was such a hypocritical and generally terrible person who would eat yogurt? I’m pretty sure I’d have weaned myself off dairy sooner had I not feared becoming one of *them*.  Yet another reason why some people should just not be allowed to open their mouths. There are so many people I have liked until I’ve heard them speak. That’s one of the three things that are automatic turnoffs, in case you’re keeping track at home: gauges (yuck!), annoying voices/annoying things said, and not smelling awesome.



laissez les bons temps rouler!

Confession: beyond a piece of king cake (okay, two pieces–I couldn’t decide what flavor to make!), Mardi Gras was pretty much just a Tuesday. Nice that there was no class, I guess (though I really enjoy one of those Tuesday classes!). Unnice that the weather is dreary. Nice to see friends from long ago (no snarky comments about exactly how long ago–or not–long ago was for me). And I doubt I’ll be observing Lent (I don’t have any bad habits that I’m willing to part with), so no need to go all out on the night before, right? And besides, it’s too cold for booze and boobs outdoors anyway.

We were going to go out to eat, but it’s more exhausting for me to go out and figure out ordering, so I decided to cook instead. A safe recipe of “couscous with stuff in it.” (Yes, that’s related to my other signature dishes: “rice with stuff in it,” “pasta with stuff in it,” and “miscellaneous carbohydrate with stuff in it.”) La patro stopped at TJ’s on his way from work to grab an onion and some couscous. Which he had never heard of. So he was afraid that he’d sound gay asking for it at the story. Logic: it runs in the family.

Now I’ll finish off the evening with some Basic Linguistic Theory. And maybe a beer–it is Mardi Gras after all…