Book 'Em

I've recently been trying to increase the amount of reading I do for things not related to school.  In January, I began reading J.K. Rowling's novel The Casual Vacancy, but apparently like many other readers, am struggling to get through it.  The novel is relatively political and slow moving.  The wealth of detail in the novel is astonishing, but it's too much for my tastes.

I also picked up, at the school library, some books on libraries.  I've been working through The Story of Libraries by Fred Lerner slowly.  I read a few reviews of the book on Goodreads recently and was disappointed to find that what I have not yet read in the book (which about 75%) includes a lot of anti-women sentiments and argues that women should not be librarians.  I haven't read this for myself, but I'll update you when I get there.

I'm always trying to stay up-to-date on young adult novels, and I've been trying to get my hands on a book called Betwixt for ages.  I finally found it at the local library a few weeks ago and I've been spending my bed time reading on that.  Its reviews, too, were not as good as I expected, but I'm really enjoying it so far.  I think the writing style is really unique and I'm interested in all of the characters (except maybe one).

As it is the 50th anniversary of The Feminine Mystique, I grabbed a copy of that as well.  I haven't read any of it yet, but I have several other library books (meaning both books from the library and books about libraries) to read.  The Feminine Mystique is a rather hefty book and I'm not convinced I will get to it before it's due back at the library, but I'm going to try.

These books have spent a lot of time on my second bed, waiting patiently under homework and art supplies and the occasional snack.  They are very kind and don't poke me to get my attention or fall off the bed to attempt a book suicide.  Still, I feel a little guilty when I look over and see the corner of a book poking out from under a bag of chocolate covered pretzels.

Between my RA job, school, my family, my boyfriend, and a number of other things I am involved in, it's hard to find any time for pleasure reading.  I avoid going to the bookstore these days because one, I can't afford to buy books at the moment and, two, my list of books to read is already over three hundred.  I don't exactly have time to read the books I've been wanting to read for years, let alone books that I just found.  Besides just plain not having time for it, I think it's largely the result of so many books having sequels.  I prefer to read series of books in chunks, rather than just whenever they come out.  If I wait for them to come out, I usually have to read at least the previous book in order to remember the important events and even the characters.

Even when I get free time, I don't necessarily want to read because I typically have been reading a lot for school that day.  I've also learned, recently, that I tend to get heavy eyes when I read lying down in bed, even if it's in the middle of the afternoon.  This is helpful for when I need to go to sleep at night, but annoying when I'm trying to read for an assignment.

In the past, I've done challenges where I would read fifty books in one year.  I made it to fifty far before the end of the year but I find I'm lucky if I read ten or twelve books for myself in a year these days.

Perhaps it's a matter of time budgeting.  I'm sure if I spent less time on the internet, I would have more time for reading, but sometimes, all I want to do is stare at a screen and let something entertain me rather than having a more active role (ie. reading) in entertaining myself.

It's a hard life, I know.

One day I will have all the time in the world to read whatever I want.  Unfortunately, today is not that day.  In fact, today is the day that I do my English reading, my Psychology reading, and my World Religions reading.

Oh, and write that piece for my second English class.

Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?

As some of you may know, I have a younger brother.  He is two-and-a-half years my junior and graduated from high school just last June.  I doubt he reads my blog, so I'm going to say a lot of honest things about him in this post.

Growing up, it was clear that my parents treated my brother and I differently.  I tended to get more praise -- I did well in school, I behaved well, so on.  My brother, meanwhile, got away with more things (for example, he could punch me, bite me, and pull my hair and it was no big deal; the moment I laid a finger on him it was game over) and got to do things at an earlier age than I did (watch The Godfather, for instance).  I don't know if this is part of what made us so different now, but I suspect it is.

When I went home for spring break my freshman year, about halfway through we discovered that my brother was a smoker.  I've said this many times and I will repeat it: I do not have anything personal against smokers; it annoys me to to no end when they throw cigarettes on the ground or smoke right outside a door (especially a restaurant -- I just ate, please don't smoke right there, it's gross), but I don't dislike them just because they are smokers.  My aunt, one of my favorite people, was a smoker.  My psychology professor, who I really like, is a smoker.

In any case, we (that is, Mom, Dad, and I) found out he was a smoker.  He'd been smoking for two years or so at that point (meaning that he began when he was fourteen).  I was absolutely devastated.  Smoking had a large hand in two of my grandparents' deaths, and was an unhelpful factor in my aunt's death at age thirty-nine.  I felt betrayed and angry.  I felt like my brother was being selfish.  I did research and found, unsurprisingly that people who have an existing anxiety disorder (like myself) can be further irritated and made more anxious by the presence of cigarette smoke or the smell.  My brother did not care.

He told us he quit and, based on his irritable attitude, it seemed he had.  But he hadn't.  I found out over Christmas that he had, in fact, never stopped.  He had also originally told us that he didn't smoke very frequently, just on occasion.  This, also, was not true.  He had been smoking about half a pack a day.  Given how much money he blew right after receiving his paycheck, I wasn't surprised.  But over Christmas, after a huge fight, (or, while trying to solve that fight), I tried really, really hard to use everything I had learned as an RA to have a heart-to-heart with my brother.  It seemed to work and, frustrated with my parents, he said he was willing to have a mediated discussion with them.  It never happened -- he would say it wasn't a good time every time I brought it up.

Recently he's been dating a girl with whom he's been close friends for a while.  There seems to be a lot of anger and drama in their relationship, though I only know what he posts on Facebook.  My brother tends to use Facebook as a venting service or a diary.  He posts long rants about whoever is "mistreating" him that day and typically ends the post with "hmu" or "dhmu" (hit me up, don't hit me up).  Today, he posted a really angry status that was written in a way that was unclear and misleading.  The way I (and others) read it was that he had been arrested for punching someone and was also on drugs.  I texted him to find out what was going on, and he got even angrier and defensive.  He was not on drugs, he told me, nor had he been arrested.

I don't know if I can believe him any more.  No matter how much I try to be there for him, he continues to lie to me.  He calls the "juggalo" group (that is, fans of Insane Clown Posse, other bands, and the bands themselves) his "family."  Yes, this is the family that turned him into someone I no longer recognize.  Someone I don't know I believe is related to me -- is my family.

I've tried so hard to be a good sister.  I realized recently that I do not know what it means to be a good sister.  Does it mean checking in with him?  Does it mean offering him advice?  Does it mean ignoring him and everything he does so he doesn't get angry when I ask him what's going on?

It's incredibly upsetting to know that the kid I shared a room with for twelve years is someone I no longer recognize and there's nothing I can do about it.  He turns to his friends and Facebook more than he ever comes to me or his parents, despite the fact that I've made it very clear that he can call me or text me anytime he needs someone.  He claims I won't understand, sometimes, but I don't see how that can be.  I'm hurt and he doesn't care.

Hi, my name is Abby, and I'm afraid I'm losing my brother.

A Challenge

Today felt like a long day.  It probably has something to do with the fact that I woke up two minutes before my class began and had to get ready at the speed of light.  Class starts at 10:30 and I was there by 10:34.  Not bad if I do say so myself.  Anyway, it was raining and I didn't want to wake up and I guess I pressed the wrong button on my alarm clock because all of a sudden it was 10:28 and I was late.  You do what you can, I suppose.  It wasn't a big deal.

We talked about The House on Mango Street during class which, while I appreciated as a piece of literature, struggled to really connect to and understand on a deeper level and I think that just has something to do with the cultural distance between the author and I.  After class I went to lunch, which was actually pretty good but I ate too much and had a stomachache the rest of the day as some kind of punishment.  Lunch was followed by Evolutionary Psychology, in which we watched a discussion between David Buss (author of our text) and Richard Dawkins.

I spent my office hours working on my bulletin board for March which is going to be adorable if I do say so myself.  The concept or theme is "'secrets' of famous women of history," which will help to both advertise my April program and tie into the whole Women's History month thing.  Although, when it comes to Women's History Month, I'm of Morgan Freeman's mind and what he believes about Black History Month -- we don't need a history month; every person's history is women's history/black history.  We don't celebrate a History Month.  Women's history should be just history.

Part of my office hours on Tuesdays include an area meeting for the RAs in my area.  One of our other HRAs joined the meeting to discuss some of her plans and I plugged my upcoming events as well.  Like I mentioned just recently, one of them is Who Needs Feminism? and the other is a tour of upperclassmen housing for first years.  Typically first years don't know what upperclassmen rooms look like so they go into housing lottery not knowing what to expect or how to pick the room they want.  Hopefully this program will help with those issues.

I ate a quick dinner after our area meeting, even though I was still full from lunch.  I knew if I didn't I'd be really hungry later so I had to eat something.  I planned on going to senate after, which I did and where I announced Who Needs Feminism once again.  I'm really hoping things work out for that event because I really believe it's an extremely important one for any school, but especially a women's college.  Senate went a little bit longer than usual and we had a lot of serious business to discuss and take care of.

It was still raining a bit when we got out so I went back to my apartment as quickly as possible and got into my favorite pair of yellow sweatpants, which I wear on days I have gym time or on bad days because they make me happy and are extra comfortable.  Tonight I'm just wearing them because it's cold and I want to be comfy.  I've been web surfing, looking at links recommended by friends throughout the day and reading an article my boyfriend sent me about a kid who walked ten miles to go to a job interview.

For the rest of the evening, I plan on digging into some homework, maybe doing a little bit of writing on a fantasy novel I started a few weeks ago, and perhaps writing a couple of letters.  Today is also Dad's birthday -- happy birthday, Dad! -- so I'll probably get to skype with my family in a little while, too.  Unfortunately, my card probably won't make it to New Hampshire until tomorrow, but I think he's having pineapple upside-down cake tonight and Mom and Dad are going out to dinner this weekend to celebrate.  I wish I was there.

You may have noticed (or may not) that each of these paragraphs are exactly one hundred words long (except this last one, which will be fifty).  I decided to do that as a little challenge for myself tonight to see how it worked out.  It wasn't so bad, after all.

You Can Have It All -- No Questions Asked

For the past few weeks, I've been putting together and advertising for a program for students on campus.  Who Needs Feminism? is a movement started by students at Duke University in which people are invited to write "I need feminism because" on a piece of paper or a whiteboard with their reason and having their picture taken with that statement.  The picture is then uploaded to the Who Needs Feminism? Tumblr or Facebook page.

What I love about this movement is that it's not only striving to raise awareness, but also raise awareness of definition.  Within literally five minutes of putting up a poster for my event, I was hit with someone who clearly misunderstood what feminism means -- and this was at a women's college.  After pinning my flyer up on one of the dining hall cork boards, I watched a senior student rip the flyer down rather violently, show it to her friends, laugh, and crumple it some.  I was glad that they left it at the table when they got up to leave.  I picked it up and replaced it on the board.

I wasn't just upset because I had spent a lot of time designing the flyers and finding the right spot on the board for it.  I was upset because this was a woman who didn't realize that she was part of the problem.  She was making it so that she will only earn seventy-five cents for every dollar that her male counterpart makes.  Of course, this shows me that the event really is necessary, but I was shocked and sad that even at a women's college where the slogan is "Women who are going places start at Hollins," women misunderstood the concept of feminism.

Let me clear up a few things.  Feminist does not mean man-hater.  Not all feminists are man-haters and not all man-haters are feminists.  Feminists do not want to have power over men.  Feminists simply want equality.  This concept is so simple, yet so many people seem to misunderstand.  They call feminists bitches for voicing their opinion -- for daring to be as outspoken as any man.

There is a quote that floats around, and, while I can't remember who said it, it goes something like this: If there is a man in a leadership position who does a good job, he is a man.  If it's a woman doing the same, she's a bitch.

Another thing I would like to point out is that feminism does not necessarily mean that the individual feminist wants to be a pilot or a doctor or any other traditionally male position.  Feminists may want to be stay at home mothers, but they recognize that that is their choice and that other women may want something different.  I want to stress that word here -- different.  Being a doctor is not "more" than being a mother; it's simply different.

Furthermore, it's not unusual to see magazines boasting titles like "Can Women Have It All?"  This is a stupid question if ever there was one -- and despite what your elementary school teacher said about there being no stupid questions, there are.  Why shouldn't women be able to have it all?  Men certainly can.  Hell, men can have a job, a wife, kids, a mistress, and a hobby and hardly anyone thinks anything of it.  Meanwhile, it's still practically a scandal if a woman tries to have a job and kids.  Something has got to give.

I don't think feminists are asking for a lot when they request equality.  Women have been around just as long as men -- why is it taking longer for women to achieve the same status as men?

I believe it has to do with a fear of women.  Men know that women are powerful.  Men now know that women can reproduce without men, with the help of science (if you haven't heard about this, do a Google search -- it's really cool).  Men know that, through sexual selection, women have been shaping them through years of evolution to craft men who are more likely to survive to the age of reproduction and aid in raising offspring after reproducing.  But does fear justify unequal treatment?

Clearly not.  Women are not second-class citizens.  Feminists are not bitches.  Some of us need to get out a dictionary before we start hating on things we don't understand.  And this is part of my mission this Friday.  It's time that we stop prefacing things with, "I'm not a feminist but..."

If you're not a feminist, then you believe women are less than men.  It's as simple as that.

Do You Believe in Magic?

I was introduced to urban fantasy through Emma Bull's War for the Oaks.  I loved the mix of realism and fantasy, I loved the characters, and I loved the concept of faeries.  I had picked the book up on a whim, and still remember the event distinctly.

One afternoon, a friend, my mom, and I went to the mall.  I probably in middle school at that point and an avid reader.  There was a bookstore at the mall going out of business so we went inside to get some cheap books.  My friend, who was not an avid reader (nor do I believe she is now, though I haven't seen her in years so I can't say for sure), wanted to get out as quickly as possible.  I was content to browse the shelves of misplaced books, not looking for anything in particular, but eager to see what was available and not miss a single cover.

I don't remember what made War for the Oaks stand out for me.  I imagine it had something to do with the cover.  That's typically what draws me to a book.  A librarian in my middle school once said to my class that we should, in fact, judge books by their covers -- if you do not like horror stories, then you should not pick up a book that has a picture of a skeleton and a ghost on it expecting it to be a book about princesses and unicorns and rainbows.  So maybe it was the stark, grungy spine that drew me to the book.  I don't know.

I hadn't really found anything in the store to interest me at that point.  Usually all of the good books are gone pretty quickly when there are books on sale.  Although I wasn't ready to leave, my friend kept nagging.  She was bored.  She wanted to go somewhere else.  I was frustrated but, for once in our relationship, we were going to do what I wanted to do, not what she wanted.  So I took my time browsing until I came upon this novel.

I was vaguely interested in the summary presented on the back of the paperback book.  The heroine was a guitarist and I was getting into guitar myself.  She seemed pretty cool and kick-ass and fantasy novels are usually intriguing, so I decided to get it.

We paid the books we had selected (though I believe that was the only one I got that day, Mom got others) and left the store, my friend sighing in relief.

When I read the book, I was utterly struck by how beautiful it all was, despite the dark, grunginess of the novel.  I loved how well-crafted the world of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts were.  I loved the Phouka, even though he didn't have a real name, and I loved Eddi, who was a girl, despite her traditionally masculine name.  I loved Hairy Meg and I loved Carla, and I especially loved Willy Silver.

I have now read this novel a handful of times.  I would read it more if I wasn't afraid of wearing it out.  From War for the Oaks, I started looking for more urban fantasy -- specifically faerie fantasy, based on Irish and Scottish folk lore having to do with the "Good Neighbors" or the "Fair Folk."  I found Holly Black's Tithe in the library and liked it so much I decided to write to her.  I asked her several questions, regarding both her life and her writing.  She responded with a long hand-written note which answered all of my questions along with several stickers, one of which boasted her signature.  I was ecstatic.  I read Holly Black's other novels (at that time, they were Valiant and Ironside -- I eventually found the first of the Black Cat series, but didn't like it as much as I enjoyed her faerie novels), and continued to look for more.

I have since read Pamela Dean's Tam Lin (based on my favorite faerie ballad), some of Frewin Jones' novels, O.R. Melling's The Hunter's Moon and two of the novels which followed that, and most other faerie novels I could get my hands on.

I've tried, too, to write novels that are similar.  Though I've had some ideas, none seem quite as romantic or true to the faerie lore as Emma Bull's and Holly Black's.  Despite this, I continue to try and am always throwing my sensors out to detect any kind of nonfiction I can find on the subject -- that is, information about the folklore from which these authors draw.

Part of what I love about these novels is that there is so much information on the lore out there that part of me believes it must be true.  It is largely how I feel about religion -- all of these stories are so similar, so there must be some truth in them.  And it is my love of these kinds of novels and this belief that gives me hope that one day, there will be just a little magic in my life and an impish pixie and a faerie queen to take me on an adventure.

Why I Exercise

After over a week, I was finally feeling healthy enough to go back to the gym.  I only lasted about thirty minutes, but what can you do?  Right now, I'm focusing on what's important: that is, that I went at all.  And while I was pedaling away on the bike (and then running away on the elliptical), I tried to focus on something even more important: I am not doing this to be skinny, I am doing this to be healthy.

It's hard to have that mindset.  Every time I find myself thinking something along the lines of, "Get to the gym or you're just going to get fatter," or, "Go to the gym -- don't you want to be skinny?"  I have to stop myself and remind myself why I'm actually doing this.  Granted, my original reasons may have something to do with image, but I've recognized that thinking that way won't help me or make it any easier.

When I participated in groups on LiveJournal, I used to browse the "thinspo" or "thinspiration."  I never used it for myself, but I had a curiosity about the whole culture and was jealous of the dedication of these girls, even if what they were doing was hurting them severely.  On occasion, I'll still search the thinspo tag on Tumblr or Pinterest.  I'm still fascinated and still jealous.  But I recognize, at the very least, how very, very wrong it all is.  I suspect a lot of it has to do with culture and the general environment in which I was brought up.  Parents do their best (and mine certainly did) to show their daughters that they can do anything, be anything, and should love themselves.  But those two (or one) whisper(s) aren't enough to drown out the overwhelming shouts in Hollywood and the media.

Even Disney, as much as I hate to say it, contributes to this.  Have they ever had an "ugly" princess?  Not in my opinion.  Have they ever had a princess that was overweight?  No, unless it had to do with some brief joke or a plot device.  I love Disney -- I do, but they're not perfect.  A lot of people have called for princesses of other races.  I'm calling for a princess who has a normal body shape, at least.  I don't want it to be a plot device, I don't want it to be a joke: it should be ignored, just as the shapes of the current Disney princesses are ignored.  But I want a fat princess.

Things have been improving, little by little.  Although I haven't seen it, I understand Pitch Perfect's Fat Amy is all about self love.  But I also understand that her weight is something of a joke.  I'm tired of the fat funny person stereotype.  Chris Farley did it, John Goodman's done it, and Rebel Wilson is in the process of doing it.  Why does it always have to be a joke?  Why can't it just be?

I want to be represented.  If I was an animated person (uh, as in, drawn), I would do it myself.  Sadly I am made of flesh and bone instead of paint and film.  Who knows, maybe I'll write Disney's next princess screenplay.

I am not suggesting boycotting Disney movies.  For all the stereotypes they use and the negative messages they send, they are not infallible.  But they do have a lot of good messages.  Thieves can be redeemed (Aladdin, Flynn Rider), true love exists (uh, every Disney princess movie ever), and girls -- make that women -- can take care of themselves (Rapunzel, Tiana, Merida, Belle).  I recognize that some of these mention the newer films more heavily, but I think that's because Disney is becoming more aware of these issues.

Today I went to Goodwill to try to find some new clothes that are less casual than what I currently own.  While trying things on, I was relieved to find that much of what I picked out fit.  I was relieved to realize here it was not so much of a problem to find clothes that fit me.  If I went to another store, a "new goods" store, this would not be true.  I can't decide if this is because manufacturers discourage overweight people by not making enough or if these clothes are selling out because what is labeled as "large" is actually "normal" and should therefore be labeled "medium."  I don't know.

I exercise to save myself.  I exercise because it makes me happy.

I do not exercise to be skinny.

They Are Always There Together

About five years ago, I was bored and decided to type a bunch of my favorite author names individually (including "john green") into the search bar of YouTube.  I was opening a Pandora's box without even knowing it.  What I found, once I searched for John Green was an insane amount of videos (probably around 500 at that point) between him and his brother Hank Green.

I had been in internet communities before, mostly for fanfiction writing/reading/sharing.  I started with Good Charlotte fanfiction and then moved into Harry Potter and then dabbled in some High School Musical and Hannah Montana and a few other fandoms.  The main community I was a part of, however, was the Good Charlotte community.  Once fandomination was shut down, a group of the Good Charlotte fanfic writers decided to start a site called GCfanfics.  The site grew rather quickly and, because fandomination had a forum section that allowed writers and readers to talk about their work, their fandom, and themselves among other topics, the creators of GCfanfics opted to set up a forum as well.  This is where a lot of the community was created.

Like many communities, we grew apart.  Some got busy with college, others with high school, still others with just life in general.  Some just lost interest in the fandom or the community.  I was a mix between being busy with high school and just losing interest but half-way through my high school career I realized how much I missed that community.

It was, then, only by chance that I found Nerdfighteria.  I'm getting ahead of myself with the vocabulary, but bear with me.  John and Hank Greens videos were already a big chunk of YouTube when I found them.  At that point, I had only used YouTube to watch old music videos, watch funny short animated skits, and occasionally use it to prove something to someone.  It had not occurred to me that people might use the video platform as a form of journaling.  I had heard of video diaries before -- I saw them used in a few movies and television shows.  But an actual video web log was somewhat foreign to me.

Once I found the first video, it took me several weeks to watch all of them.  It helped to watch all of the previous videos so I could understand inside jokes like "French the llama," and "giraffe love."  John and Hank were hilarious and informative.  John would frequently talk about literature or world news while Hank tackled science.  After Hank wrote and performed a song called "Helen Hunt" he began writing more and more songs until "Accio Deathly Hallows" came out and he became known for not only his vlogging with his brother but his music.

While John and Hank continued to communicate with each other through YouTube (the idea was that, for the first year, they would not use text based communication to communicate with each other because they felt like they were kind of drawing apart), a community began to build around them.  People, mainly young adults, began watching their videos and subscribing to their YouTube channel.  Thus Nerdfighteria was born.

The people who follow John and Hank Green, for the most part, call themselves "nerdfighters."  These people do not fight nerd -- they are people who define as nerdy and work to "decrease or fight" "world suck," which is basically how much the world sucks -- be it because of poverty, because of wars, because lack of water, or whatever it might be.  Nerdfighteria has teamed up with the HPA (Harry Potter Alliance) and Kiva among other donation based and world-suck-decreasing organizations to decrease world suck.

In the meantime, they are just awesome in general.  They're fun and creative and make cool things.  They are an excellent support system and great for if you need help on your homework.  Most of all, they are built-in friends.  There are so many nerdfighters that there has to be at least one other who shares your specific interests.  Many nerdfighters are fans of Doctor Who and Sherlock and My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

But when I found Nerdfighteria, I was able to understand a whole new part of the internet.  I started watching Charlie McDonnell (charlieissocoollike), Alex Day (nerimon), and others.  The other day, I started watching Laci Green's (lacigreen) videos.  This is what I love about the internet: the sense of community it can create among people who are not only your neighbor, but in the neighboring continent.

Tell Me, Tell Me True

Like most days, today was relatively uneventful.  I do owe you all an apology for not putting up videos lately.  Frankly, I'm running out of songs that are relevant to my posts that I know about.  Maybe I'll just start putting random things and see how well you're paying attention.

For those of you wondering how I've been doing since the panic attack, I've been fine.  Like I said, it's kind of like throwing up -- you feel much better after it happens in most cases (at least with me).

I had intended to wake up a good amount of time before class this morning because I need to buy stamps that aren't Disney Pixar to use on an envelope to the Arlington Public Library, but I decided I needed the sleep more.  I can go tomorrow before I go to lunch and the library.  Anyway, I went to class where we read our pieces on language.  Mine apparently had a tone of humor I had not been aware of when I wrote it, which was interesting.  It changes what I'm going to do with it, but that's okay.  Afterward I went to lunch (which was disappointing as usual) and then Evolutionary Psychology.  The professor lectured for a while, told us about our papers, and then we watched a movie of Richard Dawkins.  After he set up the movie, he came and sat behind me but handed me an envelope on his way to the seat.

The envelope contained an invitation to join Psi Chi, the psychology honor society.  I typically don't join honor societies because the fees are ridiculous and I never hear about real instances of honor societies being particularly helpful to finding jobs, etc. but I'm considering this one.  A friend said that sometimes financial aid will cover these fees so I sent them an email after I got back to my room.

I spent two hours in the office, mostly working on my bulletin board for March.  Another HRA was also in the office with me so it was nice to have the company.  I went down to dinner after that and was done eating within ten minutes.  Then I came back to my room and played some games of Scramble for my boyfriend to come home to and poked around YouTube and Tumblr.  I should be working on homework, but I've got most of this weekend free and I'm still sleepy so for now I'm just going to goof off and write this blog post.

After having finally conquered the sore on the roof of my mouth the other day, I put my retainer in last night for the first time in week.  It hurt as much, if not more, than getting my braces tightened when I had them.  I knew people growing up who had braces and when I go them, relatively late compared to everyone else, I asked around about pain and stuff.  I mean, I knew kids in elementary school who had them, so I figured the pain couldn't be that bad.  Well, I thought the whole process was pretty painful.  Sometimes after getting my braces tightened I couldn't eat solid food for a week.  Wax didn't always help when the wires or the brackets were particularly sharp against my cheeks and tongue.  Anyway, braces hurt, man.

I'm excited for tomorrow because I think I'm finally healthy enough to go back to the gym.  I'll probably take it easy -- just do thirty minutes on the bike without a specific setting -- but it will be nice to get back into the routine of it.

I also have an appointment with one of the librarians at the school library so I can look at some special collection materials about eighteenth and nineteenth century writing implements for my Jane Austen class presentation.  I already have a pretty good set of stuff to present on, but I want something a little more, and I'm particularly in need of information on paper and blotting paper.  I wouldn't mind a little more on ink bottles, either.  That's at two o'clock.

This weekend I'm planning on going to Walmart and Goodwill.  I need to go to the former to pick up a new white board, because the one I have isn't working very well and I need a good sized one for Who Needs Feminism on March 1, anyway.  I'll be going to Goodwill to see if there're any clothes that are closer to business casual and in decent condition.  The stuff I have now is too big for me and I don't have much of it anyway.  Even if I can't find anything, it's worth a shot and there are two Goodwills that I know of in close proximity and a Salvation Army a little farther down.

And since I've nothing particular to do tomorrow, I think it's a good night for a drink.

The Cost of an Education

Education is obscenely expensive in America.  Going into college, I knew that I (and my parents) would end up spending a ton of money.  In fact, I started paying before I was even accepted anywhere by paying application fees and the cost of the SAT and AP exams.

While I recognize that education is a very valuable thing and that schools incur costs by educating their students, a college education is quickly becoming a financially unrealistic steppingstone for many students.  Every summer break, I have been told that I might not be able to return because school is just too expensive.

Let me break it down for you.

Tuition/room and board/etc. at my school totals roughly $42,000 a year.  (This is without grants, scholarships, loans, and other breaks -- when you count all that, my cost is currently around $20,000 -- still a rather hefty amount.)  In addition to that, I pay around $100 - 200 a semester on text books (and I'm just an English major -- students who take science and math classes tend to pay more).  On top of that, I pay for travel expenses which, with the price of gas these days, is no small fee, either.  When my parents used to drive me to and from school, when you counted the cost of food and a place to stay and gas, it was around $600 a trip.  Now, I can do it for about $150, if the gas prices are kind.  Plus, let's be reasonable -- I am in college, I want to go out and do things with my friends and, if I'm frugal about it, I can do it for $10 - 15 a month, but I'd be happier if I had more like $100 at least a month to spend on frivolous things and outings.  Oh, and let's not forget those living essentials: shampoo, body wash, toothpaste, floss, feminine products, and all those other necessaries of life.

I don't know about you guys, but the only jobs I could get in high school to save up for all of this paid minimum wage.  Let's say you work twenty hours a week for three years prior to college.  I choose these numbers because for most students, a full time job is too demanding if they want to have a well-rounded application (that is, inclusive of extracurriculars and volunteer work) for college and keep up their grades and most students don't start working until they are 16, say halfway through their sophomore year or so, and therefore can only work three of the four years they are in high school.  Assuming they work twenty hours every single week of the year, that's only $22,620.  And that's if they save every penny of it, which, let's face it, they won't and can't if they are paying for their own gas to get to work in the first place.

Oh, and, by the way -- most places high school students work won't even give them fifteen hours a week, let alone twenty.

So how are we supposed to pay for college?

"Loans!" you exclaim.

Oh, yeah?

Because last time I checked, less than half of college grads are unemployed, and many of those who are employed are back at those same minimum wage jobs they were working in high school.  So how are they going to pay off those loans?  Let me remind you that (at least for my loan package) you have six months of not having to pay back your loans after you graduate.  But don't forget the interest.

"Scholarships!" you counter.

Do you know how many scholarships I've applied to and got nothing out of?  Dozens.  I hardly know anyone (I might know one?) who has applied for a scholarship and won it, let alone anyone who has won a scholarship of substantial value.  Plus, the amount of work these scholarships demand is obscene -- did they forget I am a student with studies in addition to being a poor student who needs their help?

Whatever happened to the life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?  When did it turn into debt, shackles, and the pursuit of more debt?  After eighteen (and before that, but I won't get into the quality of public education right now), people are no longer equal nor do they have equal opportunities in the American education system.  Whether or not they are up to par in terms of intelligence and desire to attend college is irrelevant -- what matters is how much money is lining Daddy's pocket.

My parents have sacrificed a lot for me to attend the school I attend.  I love my school.  But the money I and other students across the nation pay and will pay and the money our parents pay and will pay is outrageous.  The higher education financial system is entirely devoid of the American spirit.

Maybe English majors don't have a lot of job opportunities to begin with, but I'm pretty much convinced at this point I will be writing my poetry on the walls of my cardboard box house.

There Are Some Things I'll Never Understand

For my religions class, I was required to write an essay stating why we should study world religions.  I decided I was lazy and opted to use that as my post tonight, even though I wrote on religions recently.  This is a little bit more organized and formal, but I hope you find it interesting nonetheless.

Religions tend to be important parts of many cultures.  Whether a religion is the foundation of a government, the foundation of a historical movement, or a lifestyle, civilizations throughout the world have systems infused with religion.  In addition to being such a central part of life for billions of people, religion and the study thereof is significant because of its impact on the individual and its impact on groups of people, including politicians, scientists, and artists.

Students who choose to study religions have a great advantage over students who do not.  In studying world religions, students enable themselves to explore not only the religions they may study, but also themselves.  As students tend to be more impressionable given their age, they are at a crucial time in their life when exploration of self is necessary.  To critically consider religions other than the ones with which they are already familiar can assist a student in asking helpful questions to determine what faith, if any, is the right one for him or her.  This makes studying world religions important to the individual student, who may find a religion they prefer to practice over the one with which he or she grew up.  Thus, studying world religions allows for and encourages self-exploration, a valuable aspect which few disciplines offer.

Because religions tend to be rather philosophical and often complicated, students also gain better critical thinking skills when studying world religions.  People typically learn their own religions over a great deal of time.  Students, however, attempt to understand much of a religion in a short period of time.  Therefore, they must be able to think critically about the religion which they study.  Students may find they require critical thinking skills when considering a religion's creation myth, a concept of afterlife, or a ritual.  The ability to think critically is not only useful in studies of religious matters, but in all other areas of study as well.

Students who study religion also have an opportunity to become better citizens of the world.  Those who choose to reach out and learn about another religion, and thus another culture or subculture, actively show the participants of that religion that they are trying, at the very least, to better understand the culture or subculture.  By showing a desire to understand, students promote concepts of peace and cooperation.

As wars, many of which are caused by religious differences, continue to destroy the lives of millions, it is more important than ever that peoples reach out to understand each other before punishing each other for differences.  Attempting understanding is the first step toward respect.  If students try to make this first step, peace will come more easily as more and more people come to understand.  As students will learn for themselves, they will also have the benefit of being able to teach and correct others about misunderstandings regarding other unfamiliar religions.  Such understanding will spread and thus so will peace.

By advancing understanding of other religions and thus assisting the existence of peace, cultures will be more able to trade technological and cultural aspects.  Should people who work in sciences and technologies better understand each other through their religious cultures, that they will be better able to work together is likely.  If such cooperation exists, technological advancement would happen more rapidly and efficiently than it does now.  Some may argue that this relationship would diminish the competition which is often evident between cultures to be the most technologically advanced in any given area.  However, such a relationship does not inhibit friendly competition while also encouraging cooperative actions.

The same concept applies to cultural advancements as well.  If by studying religions artists are better able to understand artists of other religious cultures, they are more likely to trade cultural ideas and thus artistic media and movements will blend to create art that is of the world rather than of a specific place.  This art will, in turn, invite more people to understand the cultures infused into the work of an artist of their cultural home.

Studying world religions has many benefits, both for the individual and for the greater good.  Students who decide to study world religions can become more able to think flexibly and critically as well as assist the world in becoming a more peaceful and well-rounded place.  Through education, people of the world can correct their misunderstandings of others and thus go on to be on friendlier terms.  This leads to a more fulfilling individual and community life.

More History

Before I really get into things, I want to make one thing clear: I have never been, nor am I now, suicidal.

Now that that's out of the way, let me start with something more interesting: Panic attacks are like throwing up.  There's a slow build up of pressure and anxiety until finally you explode.  But, even exhausted, you feel better after.  Like now, for instance: I had an anxiety attack about twenty minutes ago.  It started about half-an-hour before that.  The time leading up to it, I spent telling myself it was okay, I was okay, don't look at the moon, because the moon reminds you you are small and you don't like that, you're almost there, it's okay, it's just depression, you've made it through before, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay.

I never believe myself when I say these things.  But somehow they all end up being true.  I am okay.

I started having panic attacks the August before I turned fifteen.  I had just lost all of my "friends" (by being ostracized for no real reason), we moved across town, and I was beginning high school.  Apparently this was just enough stuff to stress me out to the point of random bursts of extreme emotion, usually crying, that would only stop when it was good and ready.  I still remember the very first time, how I didn't understand what was happening to me, what was wrong with me, why was I having these thoughts?

The thoughts that tend to occupy my mind when I am in the middle of a panic attack involve mortality.  I think about the death of my parents, I think about my own death, I think about how the stuff I own now (all of that stuff!) will one day no longer belong to me.  It won't belong to anyone.  I think about how the body I now use to type these very words will decay and disintegrate, I think about how the words I type now will be dead words.

For seven years now, I've been experiencing this.  After the first few months of it, I opted to see my doctor.  At that point, I was having at least one panic attack a week.  They weren't really triggered by anything, unless I happened to think of something like the things above.  Sometimes they would just start and for no reason that I could discern.  Depression started sinking in, too.  School became something I dreaded, whereas before I looked forward to it.  Getting out of bed was next to impossible.  I slept frequently after school and did the minimum of everything.  I didn't talk to many people and I kept to myself.

When I went to see the doctor, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety.  I resisted the diagnosis because I was a teenager: teenagers are supposed to be depressed and anxious.  I no longer resist the diagnosis.  I am no longer a teenager.  The doctor suggested I see a therapist, so we set up an appointment and for a few months, I went.  I found the therapy sessions to be more stress-inducing than helpful.  Every session felt like I was being blamed for everything and the panic attacks became more frequent as fall melted into winter.

After we determined therapy alone was not helping, I was prescribed Lexapro.  This is another first I remember distinctly.  I threw it up the first day.  The second day, Mom sat next to me on the couch while I tried to take the second pill.  Then I tried to eat an English muffin to help keep the pill down.  It was the hardest meal I've ever eaten.  I hardly got one half of it down while I broke down into tears, frustrated that things just couldn't be okay again.  I had no appetite and every bite was a struggle.  I would bring the food up to my mouth and then drop it again, not feeling the energy or willpower to take a bite and chew.

Another instance I remember, either before I began the medication or just after, occurred when we were still allowed to use cell phones between classes.  I felt a panic attack coming on -- by then I had figured out what it felt like to have one approaching -- and called Mom.  I was in the science building and the call dropped.  I went to class.  Mom was worried enough that she called the school and they sent someone to find me.  She thought I might have passed out in the hallway.  I went home, feeling ill and anxious.

I stopped going to therapy shortly after.  The pills started to work.  I've been on them ever since.  They aren't perfect, and they're not for everyone, but for now, it's something I don't think I'll ever get away from.  It's scary to think that my happiness is artificial but it's better than living in fear all the time.

Now, I'm off to sleep.  Panic attacks these days usually occur when I'm overwhelmed and stressed out.  Things will have to wait, though.  Right now, I need the rest.

Staring Blankly Ahead

I'll be honest with you, I don't want to write tonight.  Mainly because of this: long distance is hard.  Really, really hard.

Friday afternoon, I left campus for the DC area where my boyfriend lives.  The drive took about three-and-a-half hours.  When I arrived, I left my things in the car and went straight to his door with a small box of chocolates and three pink carnations.  I knocked on the door and he answered.  I looked up at him (he's six feet, I'm five feet) and said in the cutest voice I could manage, "Will you be my valentine?"

Let me tell you, the smile I got for that was worth far more than the three-and-a-half hour drive I had just endured.

I had requested he get some vanilla ice cream to help my sore throat.  Instead, he had something better for me: two different kinds of mini-cheesecakes, one raspberry and one chocolate chip Kahlua.  Both were delicious.  We shared some of the cheesecake in bed, despite me having a cold, and then decided to go get "real food" for dinner.  We ended up going to a Chinese restaurant called XO Taste, where I got a corn porridge.  It was good, but I got full quickly.  Between porridge and Pho, I tend to get full rather quickly -- I expect it has to do with the amount of water.

Afterwards, we returned and finished off the raspberry cheesecake.  Because I was so congested, I took the recommended dose of Nyquil.  Um, never again.  I was drowsy pretty much the entirety of Saturday.  Saturday morning we had an appointment to get the oil in the car changed (along with a tire rotation and brake inspection) so we had a quick breakfast of oatmeal with bananas, walnuts, and raisins.  More deliciousness.  While we waited for the car to get serviced, we walked over to the nearby 7-11 so my boyfriend could get a coffee.  We returned and I read while he played Scramble.

A coworker of his told him about an Indian food restaurant relatively nearby so we went after the car was finished.  It was a buffet style and the decor was fun, although the Valentine's Day decorations were a little hokey.  I stuck mostly with stuff I knew I liked but tried a few new things and liked them as well.  The butter chicken was really good.  Both of us were really full after so we decided to try and walk around the strip malls but it was way too cold and the wind was blowing so we both chickened out pretty soon and returned to the car.

When we got back, I did homework and he hung out for a while.  For dinner, he had some more oatmeal and I was still full so I didn't have anything.  Later on we dug into the Kahlua cheesecake.  I took another dose of Nyquil, but this one was just half a dose, so I slept fairly well but wasn't overly groggy all day.

This morning we had planned to make waffles for breakfast but were too lazy so we waited until eleven to go get some pizza instead.  We got a Caesar salad with our pepperoni pizza.  Both were good.  I loved the thin crust on the pizza, even though the bottom was blackened.  The atmosphere of the place was really unique and they had set up wine so that a tube came up from the bottles and it was dispensed from a spout.  We couldn't decide if this was really cool or really tacky.  I decided it was tacky but would have been cool if the tubing was clear instead of white.

There was a Sweet Frog next door, so we got frozen yogurt after.  We ended up choosing (or, I ended up choosing) red velvet, caramel, cake batter, and original tart.  I filled it to 16.2 ounces and we (mostly I, again) ate the whole thing.  (My boyfriend just informed me via Skype that I have terrible taste in frozen yogurt.)

All day we had been simmering some chili in the slow cooker.  We had that for dinner and I worked on some more homework.

Most of the evening, leading up to my departure around 5:30 (which was originally scheduled for 6:00 but we were both so miserable at the thought of me leaving that we decided to prolong the suffering was useless), was spent crying.  He and I probably won't see each other for another three weeks.  We'll skype plenty, of course, but it's never good enough.

I drove home in a little over three-and-a-half hours, listening to an audio recording of The Red Queen, a book largely about evolution, which I plan on telling my psychology professor about because so much of what the book is about is stuff we just covered in class.  But the guy talked a lot, as audio recordings tend to do, and I listened because there was nothing else to do but sit there and be lonely.

Three weeks can't come soon enough.

Why Do All Girls Think They're Fat?

Ever since I was little, I struggled with food and my weight.  My parents frequently pushed me outside along with my brother and whatever friends we had over, but even in elementary school, I was teased and I knew I was overweight.  I can remember several times sitting at the top of the stairs, crying and howling into my knees while my mother tried to console me from the bottom steps.  She offered to take me to WeightWatchers and/or Curves throughout this time, but I was reluctant, to say the least -- what elementary school kid goes to WeightWatchers?

I continued to fight through middle and high school.  I considered getting a gym membership but could not drive and was still embarrassed about it.  The only people I knew who actually went to the gym were in sports and my softball days ended after eighth grade, when the town did not have anything left for me.  I tried out for the school's softball team but was eliminated quickly: during this time I was also going through the worst of my depression and anxiety, which I believe made me perform at my worst for the try-outs.

When I got into college, I, like many other college students, dreaded the promised "freshman fifteen."  Going into college, I was at my heaviest of around 200 pounds.  When my mother found out how heavy I was, she was surprised, even though she saw me frequently -- somehow, between what I wore and the way I carried myself, I managed to hide it fairly well.

My second year of college, I decided to knock out one of my physical education requirements.  I decided to take a class called Lifetime Sports because there would be a variety of things we did (so if I ever hated one thing, I knew it wouldn't last all semester).  Our class liked our first section so much (tennis) that we ended up skipping the second section (frisbee golf) and shortening what would have been the third section (badminton).  Though tennis was hard, I enjoyed the challenge.  We ran two laps around the court every class time and, since I usually arrived before everyone else, I did my laps as soon as I got there.

The instructor of the course was really encouraging.  I've had a full spectrum of gym teachers -- from people I loved to people I hated, to everyone in between.  This instructor was one of the best ones I had.  (I've had eight physical education instructors that I can remember.)  That semester, I lost thirty pounds, just by going to class.  I didn't notice it too much, but when I went home and had to go to an endocrinologist appointment, I (and my mother and my doctor) were pleased to see a number thirty less than last time.  The doctor asked what I had been doing and I told him.  He told me to keep it up.

And keep it up I did.  I opted to take a second class with her in the spring, Tennis II.  Because we spent so much time on tennis in the fall, I was not required to take Tennis I as a prerequisite.  The semester went well and I got better at tennis, even though I sprained my ankle during one class and had to sit the following two weeks out.

I liked the instructor so much that I decided to take a third, not-required class of phys ed, this time badminton, something I had discovered I was naturally pretty good at.  I found out in late spring that, though the class would still be offered, the instructor had decided to retire.  A new person came in to teach the class and he was horrible.  But I'll talk about the details of that another day.

Because I had accomplished so much in that first semester of tennis, I wanted to do more.  My weight hadn't changed much since, though my pants were getting baggier.  After the horrible experience with the badminton class, though I was somewhat deterred by that experience, I decided this was my year.  All the time I would tell myself, "If you had started this time last year, you'd be where you want to be."  And this time I decided to take my own advice.

I started going to the school gym every other day (except weekends, I'd pick either Sunday or Saturday which would make for two days in a row for either Monday or Friday) for half-an-hour to forty-five minutes.  I got on a bike and, after determining (rather quickly and painfully) that it was too big for me, I moved over to another bike that was like a chair and got moving.  My mom has consistently asked me if I've lost weight, but I avoid scales like the plague. I know that whatever number I see will disappoint me

In order to keep myself from getting bored, I brought my iPad and read books I had downloaded (something I had been incredibly adverse to before, as I want to be a librarian -- I still think digital books have nothing on real books).  I've considered reading stuff for school there, but it's better if I just read "trash."  It's enough to keep my mind occupied, but not so much that I lose focus on what I'm doing physically.  I've been listening to my iPod, too -- mostly Reel Big Fish, though I did some Ke$ha the other day and might move onto MxPx soon.

This past week, I wasn't able to go to the gym.  Wednesday, I had the beginnings of some kind of mouth sore and feminine stuff going on, and Friday, the cold I currently have had hit me hard enough that I didn't want to get out of bed, let alone go to the gym.

But today, while stuffing my face with Indian food, I looked at my boyfriend and said, "You know what, I'm actually excited to go back to the gym."

And that is a victory by itself.

It Feels Good, So We Should Share

Rather than having to pick a new band once I reached the end of a playlist on my three-and-a-half hour drive to DC today, I opted to listen to an old favorite of mine -- MxPx.  There's enough of their stuff on my iPod to last me the trip here and probably a good chunk of the way back, too.  MxPx brings me back to the few things I enjoyed about middle school -- one of those things being how important music was to me back then.

Getting to MxPx (among other lesser known bands) was a process for me.  In fifth grade, when Good Charlotte came out with "Girls & Boys" and "The Anthem," I quickly became obsessed.  At the highest point of my obsession, I had 146 pictures of them on my wall (yes, I was obsessed enough to count them), and for Halloween, I went as a "Good Charlotte stalker."  ("No, I'm not a rockstar -- I'm a Good Charlotte stalker.")  I started looking into bands associated with Good Charlotte, starting with Mest and Something Corporate.  Though these two bands were of two very different styles, both appealed to me immensely.  These were bands that Good Charlotte toured with and were friends with.

I then got the idea to listen to bands that inspired Good Charlotte.  My favorite of the band, Billy Martin (guitarist), was a big fan of Silverchair.  Although they were on a hiatus at the time of my arrival on their face scene, I attached myself to the records they had released and hoped for another one.  What was great about Silverchair (and still is) is that everything they come out with sounds different, the only real constant being Daniel Johns' rich voice.  They eventually came out with a new album and I got my hands on it as quickly as I could.  One song made it to be played occasionally on rock stations, but their popularity has not yet extended beyond that (unless you count their music on the soundtracks of The Cable Guy and Godzilla).

The twins of Good Charlotte, Benji and Joel Madden, were fans of MxPx.  Benji has a copy of MxPx's "punk kid" design tattooed on him somewhere (his leg, I believe?) and this intrigued me enough to try to find some MxPx.  I started with their newer stuff, not yet able to handle the more raw stuff that came out earlier.  (Which, for the record, is not all that raw at all.)  For a while, MxPx was coming out with a new record every year, and not just with eleven or twelve songs.  For the most part, MxPx tends to record records with closer to eighteen or nineteen songs.  I got a hold of their live album because it had the most variety on it and fell in love with their finale song, "Punk Rawk Show."  It's still one of my favorites, and I listen to it sparingly so that I don't ever become bored of it.  And, if you're wondering, the live version of that song is way better than the studio recording.

After MxPx, I went further back.  I got into Rancid, which was a little bit more rough, and the Clash.  I listened to a little bit of the Sex Pistols and a little big of Iggy Pop.  In the meantime, I was begging for the latest and most popular (though I'd never admit to its popularity at the time -- I was too much of a hipster) including Avril Lavigne, My Chemical Romance, and New Found Glory.  I don't listen to any of those bands anymore.  (Occasionally I'll listen to Avril Lavigne's new stuff, but I never really enjoy it, it's just background noise.)

And I think that's what I'm trying to get at.  I don't listen to Good Charlotte anymore.  I wore them out long ago.  Yet even though I listened to MxPx just as frequently and for almost as long, I still listen to them.  I still listen to Silverchair and Something Corporate (and Andrew McMahon's other band, Jack's Mannequin).  I listen to all of these bands because they're good at what they do.  They don't just play things that are catchy, they play things that are interesting.  They use clever turns of phrase in their lyrics and even more thought-provoking phrases and riffs with their instruments.

A lot of people give young kids just getting into music a hard time.  When I was listening to Good Charlotte, I had a lot of people say to me, "You know that's not real punk, right?"  At the time, I didn't really accept that, though I realize it now.  But even more importantly, now I realize it doesn't matter.  It was a gateway band and that is good enough for me.

Take the Highs with the Lows, Dear

Well, I had the tab up earlier to write this but closed it and forgot until just now when I was about to go to sleep.  I've apparently been getting sick the last few days, beginning with a mouth sore on the roof of my mouth and the swelling of the gums on the top right side.  Today I also woke up with a sore throat that lingered all day and a cough has begun to make itself known.

I would love to know what caused this because I've actually been pretty healthy lately. I guess there's nothing I can do about it now but rest as much as possible (which, admittedly, will be very little this weekend given that I'm planning to drive to DC tomorrow and then back on Sunday).

Nothing terribly exciting happened today.  I woke up and went to class, during which I read one of my in-class writing assignments.  The prompt for this one was food.  I didn't like it much when I wrote it but liked it somewhat better when I read it aloud today.  Other people seemed to more-or-less like it, so I guess that's a plus.  Lunch was not particularly good -- just a chicken patty with some ham and cheese on it.  I tried eating potatoes but even when I cut them up into really small pieces, I had trouble chewing them well.  My solution was to get some ice cream.

Dinner was similarly disappointing.  Usually on Valentine's Day, Sodexo makes nice steaks and there's a cupcake bar.  Not this year, my friends.  There was some kind of pasta with tomato sauce and meat (more like a casserole than spaghetti), tempura chicken with some kind of spicy sauce (yeah, not going there when my mouth feels the way it does), and then the usuals: pizza, sandwich station, and grilled cheese/cheeseburger/quesadilla.  I went for some pepperoni pizza.

After dinner I headed to the local library to pick up some materials I had requested from another library.  I also ended up getting to YA books I've been meaning to read for a long time, so I came home with five in all.  I went to the grocery store after the library to pick up some throat lozenges and an air freshener (I usually get the vanilla, but I got peach this time), and I looked at notebooks and binders (for taking notes on books about libraries and holding my rejection letters from literary magazines) but determined they were too expensive.  I also saw some cheap gummies so I got those, too.

When I got home, I put some stuff away, including some Valentine's spoils from Mom and Dad (including a copy of the Globe Magazine from Boston, which had an article about Terry Francona in it).  I did some web surfing and skyped with my boyfriend.  Then I decided I needed some orange juice but, having tried drinking orange juice at lunch, I knew the acid would only make my throat and mouth hurt more.  To fix this, I added some peach schnapps to my orange juice.  Yum!  Then I had another strawberry lozenge.  Before I decided to finally go to sleep, I read a bit of one of the YA novels I picked up, called Betwixt.  I got about thirty-five pages in or so and I'm excited to keep reading.  Depending on how quickly I read, I'll give updates on my thoughts.  It's interesting so far and the writing itself is rather spectacular, but I'm not sure how I feel about switching between characters each chapter.  It's not a POV switch because it's told in third person, but the focus switches and that's enough to be annoying for me.

Tomorrow, I'll be writing earlier in the day so I don't have to worry about it once I arrive in DC.  I'm also planning to knock out a bunch of homework so I don't have a lot to do this weekend.  At 1:30 I have an HRA meeting.  I've been putting off the reading for that because last semester, when we had reading to do, I had always forgotten what I had read by the time the meeting came around which was really frustrating.  Frankly, when I've got a ton of stuff for school to read, I'm less motivated to read and remember what I read for my job.  The text we read last semester had a lot to do with leadership styles and this is something I'm not very good at thinking consciously about.  I guess I'm a good leader, though, because I wouldn't be in the position I am if I wasn't.  If that makes any sense.

Now I am going to go to sleep because I need it and I want it.

A Thousand Pages, Give or Take a Few

Despite the rain outside, I can hear birds in the trees nearby.  A few minutes ago, I spotted a stinkbug on my pillow, which I proceeded to pick up with a tissue and promptly flush down the toilet.  That makes about thirty stinkbug casualties courtesy of me.  I expect their entrance into my room has something to do with escaping the rain.

I can't really blame them.  I don't like the rain much, either.  All the rain is really good for is an excuse to stay inside and read a book.  Today, my Jane Austen class was spent in the library where we researched topics concerning the historical context of Jane Austen and her writing.  Last semester, for 19th Century Women Writers, I talked about the postal system and pulled most of my information from a book titled What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew: From Fox Hunting to Whist -- the Facts of Daily Life in 19th-Century England.  The book is fairly useful in exactly what its title suggests, but when I searched for my current topic of choice, there was nothing to be found in the book.

This time around, my research focuses on writing implements and accessories for the time.  I was inspired by the importance of Jane Austen's writing desk from her father.  In addition to this, as I mentioned in a recent post, I adore stationery and pens.  Apparently, fountain pens were invented around the time of Jane Austen (early 1800s), but aside from this, there is little information available.  The university library owns some materials in special collections and I've been told that, if I make an appointment with the woman who cares for these documents and books, I will have access to them for a brief time.  I am hoping to make an appointment for this Friday, but it might be too late to make the appointment.

While I was searching for books on paper and pens and other writing paraphernalia, I came across the library section of the library.  There is a reason I avoid going to the library: everything looked so wonderful and interesting.  Ultimately, I decided to take out three books about libraries and found nothing useful that I could take out regarding writing implements.  The three books I did checked out are Something Funny Happened at the Library: How to Create Humorous Programs for Children and Young Adults, Sacred Stacks: The Higher Purpose of Libraries and Librarianship, and The Story of Libraries: From the Invention of Writing to the Computer Age.  I'm sure as I read these books, I'll be commenting on them in my blogs and, perhaps, writing full-fledged review and considerations of the texts.

While we're on the subject of books and writing and the 19th Century, perhaps I should tell you a little bit about my favorite poem.  I believe I was first introduced to my favorite poem through the Anne of Green Gables miniseries starring Megan Follows.  In the second set of the series, Anne recites "The Highwayman" to a group of people.  The poem, written by Alfred Noyes and released in 1906 (yeah, okay, not 19th Century, but the content and style is very 19th Century), recounts the story of a love triangle in which there's R/romance abound.  What I love about this poem is how easily the rhymes and rhythm flows.  Noyes is able to capture both beautiful language and imagery in the poem which, if you've ever tried to write a poem, you know can be distressingly difficult.  Although the poem does not feature any particularly fantasy-like elements (aside from the ghosts at the end, which I feel is pretty standard in this kind of literature), there is something eerily fantastical about it.

Although the poem is not scary, it's really the perfect thing to read on Halloween.  Or Valentine's Day.  Or Christmas.  Hell, you could read it for Independence Day -- the shots and the fireworks are nearly the same thing.  The poem is so specific yet so applicable to every time that you can't help but love it.  I'll post a link below so you can read it yourself.

Despite the awesomeness of this poem (and its popularity), it's difficult to find good film and prose adaptations.  I have considered writing a screenplay of it myself but, not having the access to Hollywood or the connections to get access, I'm afraid it would be wasted.  Of course, there's nothing wasteful about writing something for yourself, but I would love to see this thing go far.  And who knows, maybe it will.

For now, I'll just read about libraries while the rain drops throw themselves against my window like suicidal birds.

My Baby Just Wrote Me a Letter

Last year I decided to start a letter writing campaign.  The difference with this campaign from any other was that the participants were not instructed to write to any specific person.  In fact, they could write to their dog, they could write to their grandmother, they could write to their sister, they could even write to themselves, as long as the piece of mail went through the United States Postal Service system.

The event was fairly popular.  The Roanoke Times featured the event in a CornerShot (http://www.roanoke.com/extra/cornershot/wb/306938) and my university also did a piece on the event (http://hollins.edu/news2/?p=1333).  The event was extended to over a thousand people and enough people enjoyed it that they requested a second day to write letters.

As a child, I remember receiving chain mail in the stack of bills for my mother.  I don't know if this was just a thing of the 90s or if it just stopped after emails became mainstream, but it was so exciting.  The letter would read something along the lines of someone wanting to break a Guinness World Record by having the longest-running chain of letters.  You receive the letter, you make a copy of it, you send it to five friends, and each of them sends it to five friends and so on.

Even better was receiving birthday cards.  For the week leading up to my birthday, I checked the mail box religiously (and still do) because to see a card just for me, to know that someone was thinking of me, made me happy.  And why shouldn't it?  We like to be considered and thought of from time to time.

For a while, I had pen pals in Germany and the United States.  Eventually those communications dropped off and, unfortunately, I haven't found any really good pen pal sites.  Certainly there are websites out there, but none of them are organized very well, nor are they easy to navigate.  If my HTML skills were better, I would consider making a new page myself.

Since going to college, I have become a more avid letter-writer.  I write to my family and my boyfriend most frequently.  I found it helps to curb homesickness.  Having something from my family that I can hold in my hands makes all the difference in the world.  Plus, again, it's nice to know that they think of me.  They may say so while we're on the phone or Skyping ("Oh, I was thinking of you today when I...") but this is proof of it.  (Not that I don't believe them when they say they thought of me.)  I sometimes write extended family to say hello and let them know how I'm doing.  I've received mail from a friend who is studying abroad in France, too.  I also tend to write to my grandmother who, even though she can no longer see what I've written or drawn for her, loves to receive the letters.  Family members who visit her (and possibly the nursing staff at her current residence) read the letters to her and describe whatever it is I've drawn (which usually includes birds, which are her favorite).

In addition to writing the letters themselves, I also really enjoy just having a good piece of stationery.  The writing utensil is also immensely important -- I was lucky enough to accept a fountain pen from my boyfriend in the spring, a present for completing my sophomore year of college successfully.  I love how the ink pools and shines on the page before drying.  I love how it scratches and scrapes against the rough paper and glides and slides on smooth paper.  I love adding inked rubber stamp images to my letters and the envelopes which house them.  I love putting a sticker on the back of the envelope -- my little way to ensure only the person it's intended for reads it (if someone else reads it before them, the sticker will tear).  I love choosing what stamp I put on the front of the envelope and always try to make it match the content of the letter, whether my recipients realize it or not.

Since the dawn of the internet and email, handwritten letters have been in decline.  Recently, the USPS announced they will no longer be delivering paper mail on Saturdays come August.  This is largely because they are losing money in doing so.  Not enough people are sending paper mail any more and no one relies on the USPS to pay bills when they can pay them online for free.  I understand that, during a press conference, the US Postmaster General noted that, "You can't beat free."  Yes, you have to pay forty-eight cents to send a letter, but isn't it worth it?  Forty-eight cents and you give someone a piece of you to hold and keep, you uphold a tradition, you support a system that has hardly failed in all the years they've been in service.

This year, I am repeating my "Write a Letter Day."  I hope you will join me in sending at least one letter on April 30 this year.  Below is the link to the Facebook event to remind you and encourage others to participate (yes, I realize the irony).

http://www.facebook.com/events/538608266150465/?fref=ts

Baby We Was Makin' Straight A's

This blog post, I'm sure, will anger a lot of people.  But isn't that what the internet is all about?  Let's get right to it then -- shall we?

If someone were to ask me if I wanted to go back to high school, I would say, "Absolutely not."  But if someone asked me if there was anything about high school I wish also existed in college, I would nod enthusiastically and launch into this --

I desperately miss leveled classes.

The best thing about high school was that (at least in my school), you got grouped up with the kids who you were most like intellectually and in terms of how much you enjoyed school.  People who enjoyed school and wanted to be there and didn't sit in class making paper air planes all the time were in A level classes.  People who could not care less and would rather do anything but go to school were in C level classes.  Everyone else was in the middle.  (Except, of course, for kids in AP and Honors classes, which was another benefit to the leveled system.)

I was mostly in A level classes.  Yeah, I'm an elitist.  What else is new?  But I've come to appreciate the concept of leveled classes more and more throughout my college career.  While we have numbered levels of classes (100s, 200s, and 300s), everyone "has access" to all of the levels, assuming they complete the prerequisites.  And sometimes there is no prerequisite at all.  This can be incredibly frustrating when you end up in a class you're really interested in and looking forward to and your classmates are the people who don't really want to be there and, in all honesty, sometimes hold the class back.

Before you start yelling at me and lobbying for equal opportunities for all, let me finish.  I believe in educating everyone.  I really do.  But the thing is, what if some people are not reaching their potential because they are in classes with people who distract from class or make comments or statements that are clearly below the intellectual level of the course?  (I'm not saying these are "stupid" statements, for the record, just that they're not always appropriate.)  And what if the people who are in these classes but don't necessarily want to be there or aren't up to the task are missing out on the education they deserve because the class is moving too quickly for them?  Everyone loses.

At a university as small as mine, it would be distressingly difficult to attempt such a switch.  Maybe this is a fault in the admissions process or in the registering for classes process.  All I know is that I remember after leaving middle school where we were all mixed together, I got a lot more out of my A level classes.

And it's okay to move around.  I started in an A level Algebra class my freshman year of high school.  This was the hardest year for me in terms of math.  I struggled all year long.  Eventually, I determined it was just that I thought differently than (apparently) everyone else in the class and I needed things explained differently.  In any case, the following year I was placed in B level math.  I was in B level again for my final year of math when I was a junior.  Once I was placed in B level math, I understood the concepts very well, was often top of the individual class, and even mildly enjoyed the content, whereas in the A level class, I despised and feared math.

To implement levels as we do in high school would so contribute to the education of so many people.  Some might argue that the colleges themselves are the levels, with Ivy League schools being the AP/Honors crowd, but I'm not sure I agree.  Schools are not just about academic difficulty.  Indeed, academics is definitely not the only reason I chose the school I did.  A lot of my decision had to do with the school's atmosphere, the location, and the people.  In addition to this, as schools and higher education become more expensive, it's entirely possible to get "C level kids" in "AP schools" just because they have money.  And A level kids may end up in C level schools simply because that's what they can afford.

I recognize that this argument is not very well formed, but it is something I feel higher education should reevaluate in the near future.  In the meantime, the only solution is for kids to study more on their own -- A level kids so they can intellectually stimulate themselves and C level kids so they can keep up.

We Hear the Playback and It Seems So Long Ago

Despite the many horrible things that have happened in history, we continue to be fascinated by nostalgic images of the past.  Across from my bed are three posters.  One is an image (probably digitally altered) of Marilyn Monroe and James Dean.  It's black and white, except for a single muted red rose next to Dean.  Next to this poster is the famous "Kissing on VJ Day" image, in which a sailor is kissing a woman after returning home in Times Square.  Perpendicular to this poster is an image of the Eiffel Tower.  Like the James Dean and Marilyn Monroe poster, this one is mostly black and white, except for a light blue car which sits in front of the Eiffel Tower and holds a couple.

These "vintage" romantic images are not the only ones being marketed these days.  The "hipster" scene seems to especially enjoy culture of the 40s, 50s, and 60s.  Pin up art and fashion are still popular and vintage decorating styles in homes continue to be relevant.

But as much as people like to say that the past was a "simpler time," I don't feel that is actually true.  People of the past had just as many (if not more -- think of the Great Depression, for instance) problems as we have today.  What makes a difference is that the problems were different, not that they were any less in number or less in seriousness.  Though we are engaged in military combat frequently, we are not experiencing a World War.  We have managed to wipe out many diseases that killed ruthlessly in the past that we so romanticize.

Even bits of history that never made it to the mainstream audience in their time have come to the surface and become bits of nostalgia for us to rest our hearts on.  "Keep Calm and Carry On," (another poster I happen to own) for example was fairly obscure at the time of its production.  Now, however, it has turned into a popular internet meme.

I do not have an answer for why we build up the past so much.  Perhaps it is only that we are enough distanced from it so that we are able to remember it fondly, much like we remember our childhoods fondly, even though we spent much of that time throwing temper tantrums and dying for the day when we were grown-ups.

The stillness and distance of the past appeals to us.  But the past was not still or distant when it happened, so what we pine for is an allusion.  Fifty years from now, people will pine for the easy and simple days of 2013, when we only had Smart Phones instead of graphic interfaces implanted in our brains, like in MT Anderson's young adult novel Feed.

But maybe there is something to be said for the quality of the past.  During much of my adolescence, my mother worked double shifts at the nursing home on the weekends.  My brother would spend these nights in his room or with his friends, leaving Dad and I to figure out what to do with ourselves.  We started a tradition of watching Cary Grant movies on Saturday nights and eating cheesy popcorn.  Some of our favorites were Holiday, Bringing Up Baby, Arsenic and Old Lace, and The Philadelphia Story.  Many of these films are classified as comedies and rely on quick humor, slap stick, and just plain good writing to entertain its audience.

Today's films are of bathroom and sexual humor -- humor that is, in some ways, classic, but cliched and immature at the end of the day.  We're entertained by it, but nothing more.  It's a shot of humor, as opposed to a glass of wine-humor.  So maybe there is something to be said about the quality of the past.

Still, people of the 40s, perhaps, longed for the comedy of 1890, when the jokes were original and the action was live and right before your eyes.

We cannot be objective about things that are not before us.  We can only see things through warped lenses that mystify and romanticize things that once were, even when we see the dead, bloated bodies of World War II victims and the desolate landscapes of the Great Depression.

Maybe things aren't so great now, and maybe they were better in the past.  Maybe things will be better in the future or maybe they'll be worse and we will look on today as a magical time.  For now, all we can do is appreciate today, focus on what is great of today, and release ourselves from a past we never really knew.

Edit: After writing this blog post, my boyfriend showed me Midnight in Paris, which is a great artistic piece which gets at what I write about here, but with more eloquence and elegance.  Check it out.

I Hope That Someone Gets My Message in a Bottle

I apologize ahead of time if this post seems a little loopy.  I'm fairly certain something I ate was altered with alcohol or something.  But that is not the topic for tonight.  In fact, I will instead be discussing the concept of taking intellectual and artistic risks, courtesy of a conversation my boyfriend and I had over dinner this evening.

Last night, as I was falling asleep, I let the ideas of a story try and form a full story in my brain.  Surprisingly, when I woke up, I remembered most of the details I had imagined the night before.  Throughout the day I didn't think about it very much but kept it at the back of my mind.  Then, while chewing on my tacquitos, red rice, refried beans, and corn tamalito (which is delicious, by the way), I chewed on my idea as well.  I soon realized that this story which I had dreamed up prior to falling asleep last night had no conflict.

Sure, there was a blind guy in the story, but that wasn't an issue.  In fact, it was kind of the solution to the non-problem of the half-baked story.  Frustrated with the fact that I had what I felt like (and still feel like) was an excellent concept but without a problem, I brought it up for dinner conversation.  I explained the plot of my idea to my boyfriend and he pondered over it for a moment before smiling and entering one of his "rants" as he calls them.  (For these "rants" he always apologizes, but I appreciate them and like them.)

Ultimately, he argued that I don't need a conflict in order to have a story.  I do not need a conflict to have a piece of art.

But! my internal self cried, I've always been taught I need a conflict!

But! my other internal self shouted, what about Shakespeare?  He made up words, for God's sake, in order to get his point across.

And this is along the lines of what my boyfriend was arguing -- in order to communicate effectively, if you have to break the rules of grammar or the rules of story telling, then you should do it.

He then said to me that it was like tossing a bottle out to sea.  Maybe someone would pick it up and they might not understand what you're trying to do, but they'll toss it back out.  Eventually, someone will pick it up and get it.  And then that person will explain it to the world and you'll be free of all the naysayers.

So many great ideas are wasted because people are too afraid to take risks, whether they're personal risks, artistic risks, political risks, or any other kind of risk.  But so many great people who have done great things have taken such great risks.  Columbus took a great risk in sailing to the Americas.  Tesla took great risks in creating (and then destroying) amazing pieces of science.  Benjamin Franklin took a great risk when flying a kite in a thunder storm (which we now know not to do).  Authors like Jonathan Safran Foer and Mark Z. Danielewski have taken great risks in experimenting with literature.  But the thing all of these people have in common is that they accomplished great things.

I feel, as a woman, this is an especially difficult thing to do.  We are not, of course, living in the 1800s or anything, but the concept of credibility of women is still far below what it should be.  American society still does not trust a woman to be president, they still ask questions of female actors that are irrelevant or inappropriate (http://feminspire.com/actresses-strike-back-against-ridiculous-interview-questions/).  In any case, the idea of a woman taking a risk is greater than a man taking a risk.  This is not to say that women shouldn't take risks.  In fact, we would not have much of what we have as women without risks.

But to write a story without a conflict?  Is that even a story?  I suppose you can call it writing, but it is not strictly a story by definition.

Maybe it doesn't really matter.  What matters is trying.  Even if it only means trying out your idea and looking at the result for yourself.  From there, you have to determine if you're willing to take another risk and throw your bottle out into the world.

Maybe it's time to write a story.  Maybe it's time to throw your bottle out and make a splash.