Etc.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Missing the Point, Part I
This past Friday, I was tired. It was my first week of school. I had interviewed for two jobs. I had gone to the gym twice to walk for 20 minutes. These are the excuses that I offer up for my complete lack of "getting it" Friday night. In other words, I kept missing the point. Let's take a look...
I saw Pan's Labyrinth with a Friend on this particular night. So, as Friend and I are coming out of the movie, I tell her about my disappointment in the film, that maybe there was too much hype, that I just didn't get what was so great about harrowing images of war, a little girl losing an important adult in her life, and, alongside all of this, a fairytale. Friend, on the other hand, loved it; and, I respect Friend's intelligence, thus her opinion. So, I reveal, "I feel like I'm missing something, some analogy, some grand metaphor." Friend puts in her two cents (sense?) and gently says, "Well, I think it's about the loss of childhood." Just as she says that, I have a DUH moment: Of course it's about the loss of childhood! Stupid stupid stupid%$?#!. I'm pretty hard on myself intellectually, but I repeat the series of excuses listed above and forget about it.
As we continue our walk down the Mall, a drunk guy appears out of nowhere and makes a drunken comment. Before I relay such comment, it is imperative you know that Friend was wearing a hat, I was holding my hat, and I probably had a little fuzzy hat head. So, drunk dude pops out and slurs, "That's too many hats for too many ladies." I turn to Friend, look at her somewhat quizzically, and say, "Wait, there aren't too many hats for too many ladies. Maybe he thought my hair was also a hat because it's so big." Friend, at this point, is getting a little what the fuck is wrong with you? with me and says, "LC, he said that because he's drunk and he probably saw two of us, and things are just blurry." I get a little embarrassed and softly mutter, "oh." I repeat the string of excuses listed above, but my boots are heavier with feelings of stupidity now. I trudge on.
We're still walking on the Mall. It's been like 5 minutes since we've gotten out of the movie. We spot a pair of college girls who aren't wearing coats, just slinky tank tops. We can hear little bits of their conversation, a lot of loud laughter. They're holding hands, skipping here and there. I turn to Friend and, exasperated, say, "I can't believe those girls! Where are their coats? Aren't they freezing?!? I'd rather be comfortable than freezing..." Friend interrupts me mid-tirade and gives me an LC--really?!? type of look and declares, "They are drunk, LCccccc. That's the point!"
The rest of the night, I shut up. Friend was right; I was missing the point, and, it was embarrassing. I just wasn't getting the simplest of things. We met up with other friends at a bar, and I was too nervous to really initiate much conversation for slight fear that someone else would notice my ability to miss the point. To say the least and the most, it was a humbling eve.
CONCLUSION: To be continued... ¶ 5:38 AM 3 comments
I saw Pan's Labyrinth with a Friend on this particular night. So, as Friend and I are coming out of the movie, I tell her about my disappointment in the film, that maybe there was too much hype, that I just didn't get what was so great about harrowing images of war, a little girl losing an important adult in her life, and, alongside all of this, a fairytale. Friend, on the other hand, loved it; and, I respect Friend's intelligence, thus her opinion. So, I reveal, "I feel like I'm missing something, some analogy, some grand metaphor." Friend puts in her two cents (sense?) and gently says, "Well, I think it's about the loss of childhood." Just as she says that, I have a DUH moment: Of course it's about the loss of childhood! Stupid stupid stupid%$?#!. I'm pretty hard on myself intellectually, but I repeat the series of excuses listed above and forget about it.
As we continue our walk down the Mall, a drunk guy appears out of nowhere and makes a drunken comment. Before I relay such comment, it is imperative you know that Friend was wearing a hat, I was holding my hat, and I probably had a little fuzzy hat head. So, drunk dude pops out and slurs, "That's too many hats for too many ladies." I turn to Friend, look at her somewhat quizzically, and say, "Wait, there aren't too many hats for too many ladies. Maybe he thought my hair was also a hat because it's so big." Friend, at this point, is getting a little what the fuck is wrong with you? with me and says, "LC, he said that because he's drunk and he probably saw two of us, and things are just blurry." I get a little embarrassed and softly mutter, "oh." I repeat the string of excuses listed above, but my boots are heavier with feelings of stupidity now. I trudge on.
We're still walking on the Mall. It's been like 5 minutes since we've gotten out of the movie. We spot a pair of college girls who aren't wearing coats, just slinky tank tops. We can hear little bits of their conversation, a lot of loud laughter. They're holding hands, skipping here and there. I turn to Friend and, exasperated, say, "I can't believe those girls! Where are their coats? Aren't they freezing?!? I'd rather be comfortable than freezing..." Friend interrupts me mid-tirade and gives me an LC--really?!? type of look and declares, "They are drunk, LCccccc. That's the point!"
The rest of the night, I shut up. Friend was right; I was missing the point, and, it was embarrassing. I just wasn't getting the simplest of things. We met up with other friends at a bar, and I was too nervous to really initiate much conversation for slight fear that someone else would notice my ability to miss the point. To say the least and the most, it was a humbling eve.
CONCLUSION: To be continued... ¶ 5:38 AM 3 comments
Friday, January 19, 2007
Vagina Dentata
Finally, the ancient myth of the vagina dentata will be pop culturized in the horror film, Teeth (recently accepted into the Sundance Film Festival). This addition will balance out the bubble gum of Britney Spears, etc., and turn pop culture into a more respectable part of our society. I have great hopes for what this movie could do for the world.
CONCLUSION: Some women really are man eaters. ¶ 6:32 AM 0 comments
CONCLUSION: Some women really are man eaters. ¶ 6:32 AM 0 comments
Thursday, January 18, 2007
The Double Blog
Fact: I created a new blog for a technology course I'm taking this semester.
Fact: To create a new blog, I had to sign up for a Google account.
Fact: I now have three e-mail addresses.
Not Opinion: Having three e-mail addresses is ridiculous.
Fact: I now have two blogs.
Question: Does this mean I'm leading a double life in the digital realm?
Fact: It wasn't too long ago that I semi-hated on the blogging lifestyle. Now, alas, I cannot hate.
Fact: I must admit that I am powerless over the Blog.
Fact: I am LC. I dominate two blogs...wait, no, no, no. I am LC. Two blogs dominate me. One of which is read by fellow classmates and a professor. The other (this one), only by one or two readers.
Question: Will I ever make it in the blog world?
CONCLUSION: Must start posting pictures that disparage my classiness. ¶ 6:32 AM 1 comments
Fact: To create a new blog, I had to sign up for a Google account.
Fact: I now have three e-mail addresses.
Not Opinion: Having three e-mail addresses is ridiculous.
Fact: I now have two blogs.
Question: Does this mean I'm leading a double life in the digital realm?
Fact: It wasn't too long ago that I semi-hated on the blogging lifestyle. Now, alas, I cannot hate.
Fact: I must admit that I am powerless over the Blog.
Fact: I am LC. I dominate two blogs...wait, no, no, no. I am LC. Two blogs dominate me. One of which is read by fellow classmates and a professor. The other (this one), only by one or two readers.
Question: Will I ever make it in the blog world?
CONCLUSION: Must start posting pictures that disparage my classiness. ¶ 6:32 AM 1 comments
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
The Gym
Since picking up a workout routine, I've also picked up on the curious social phenomenon that is The Gym, particularly the university Gym I frequent. Usually, I spend about 2 hours when I go. (Now, don't let me fool you: After dressing out for 5 minutes, taking my sweet-ass time walking up the three flights of stairs to the unofficial women's section, spending 10 minutes stretching, getting a drink of water, then realizing that I have to go to the bathroom only to spend another 3 minutes re-organizing my hair into a bun that sits at the highest possible point on the crown of my head--after all this, I really only walk on the treadmill at 1.5 mph for 20 minutes and--BOOM!--2 hours have come and gone.) During these 2 hours in which I look at people more than concentrate on de-flabbing my arms, I have picked up on various dynamic relationships between gym-goers.
There are the older folks who had the sense to hire a personal trainer to show them how to work the weight machines, thus being able to lift way more weight than I ever could. Actually, a 65-year old man saw that I was fumbling with (correction: breaking) a leg machine and stopped on over to help me adjust a lever or two and--BOOM!--there I was lifting more weight than I thought I could! Most of these older folks have forsaken self-consciousness and instead appear to be the most dedicated and helpful of the gym-goers.
There are the thirty-something women who are still trying to compete with the bodies of 20-year old college girls who can drink liter upon liter of beer and not show one sign of cellulite--but they will soon. (Just being truthful and speaking from experience.) For the thirty-something, everything is something to be competed against. To them, you are the grass, and they are the lawnmower. Too bad the grass grows faster than they could ever mow. (I'm not mean; it was just too good to leave out.) (Note: Although not a thirty-something, I identify with them the most.)
Then, there's the boyfriend-girlfriend workout TEAM. This time in the gym is obviously their foreplay. Girlfriend follows Boyfriend everywhere, and he just soaks up the attention and impresses her with UH after UH after UH while lifting a 50 lb. barbell. Sometimes, Boyfriend needs to find an extra circular 10 lb. weight thingy, and--loving and dedicated as she is--Girlfriend follows him two paces behind. He finds one, picks it up. She stops and waits for him. They smile at eachother. He walks in front of her again, back to another bench, and she follows behind, ponytail and ribbon bouncing with pride for him. Girlfriend never lifts a thing, just smiles at Boyfriend, follows him, encourages him. While this pair of gym-goers provokes a gag reflex, they're kinda cute, too.
Finally, there's my nemesis. I don't know her name, but I know her clothing size. Size 0 and I tend to workout at the same time and in the same areas (no fault or planning on my part, I assure you). What happens is, I'll be on an elliptical machine (not breaking a sweat because I don't care enough to get my heart rate up), and Size 0 will get on the elliptical straight across from me. She starts big. Her legs begin to cycle like those of a person who is riding a bike on an incline and doesn't understand how gears work. Then, as if she has an on-off button, she instantaneously starts dripping buckets of sweat all over herself. And, for the grand finale--Size 0 looks up at me, straight into my eyes, just to rub in the fact that she is visibly working harder than me. My gaze is always there to meet hers, and, as my revenge, I pull out a Snickers and start chomping down on it, rubbing in the fact that I can move my legs in an elliptical shape and eat a yummy candy bar at the same time. Mmmmm. I'm so gross. ¶ 1:55 PM 0 comments
There are the older folks who had the sense to hire a personal trainer to show them how to work the weight machines, thus being able to lift way more weight than I ever could. Actually, a 65-year old man saw that I was fumbling with (correction: breaking) a leg machine and stopped on over to help me adjust a lever or two and--BOOM!--there I was lifting more weight than I thought I could! Most of these older folks have forsaken self-consciousness and instead appear to be the most dedicated and helpful of the gym-goers.
There are the thirty-something women who are still trying to compete with the bodies of 20-year old college girls who can drink liter upon liter of beer and not show one sign of cellulite--but they will soon. (Just being truthful and speaking from experience.) For the thirty-something, everything is something to be competed against. To them, you are the grass, and they are the lawnmower. Too bad the grass grows faster than they could ever mow. (I'm not mean; it was just too good to leave out.) (Note: Although not a thirty-something, I identify with them the most.)
Then, there's the boyfriend-girlfriend workout TEAM. This time in the gym is obviously their foreplay. Girlfriend follows Boyfriend everywhere, and he just soaks up the attention and impresses her with UH after UH after UH while lifting a 50 lb. barbell. Sometimes, Boyfriend needs to find an extra circular 10 lb. weight thingy, and--loving and dedicated as she is--Girlfriend follows him two paces behind. He finds one, picks it up. She stops and waits for him. They smile at eachother. He walks in front of her again, back to another bench, and she follows behind, ponytail and ribbon bouncing with pride for him. Girlfriend never lifts a thing, just smiles at Boyfriend, follows him, encourages him. While this pair of gym-goers provokes a gag reflex, they're kinda cute, too.
Finally, there's my nemesis. I don't know her name, but I know her clothing size. Size 0 and I tend to workout at the same time and in the same areas (no fault or planning on my part, I assure you). What happens is, I'll be on an elliptical machine (not breaking a sweat because I don't care enough to get my heart rate up), and Size 0 will get on the elliptical straight across from me. She starts big. Her legs begin to cycle like those of a person who is riding a bike on an incline and doesn't understand how gears work. Then, as if she has an on-off button, she instantaneously starts dripping buckets of sweat all over herself. And, for the grand finale--Size 0 looks up at me, straight into my eyes, just to rub in the fact that she is visibly working harder than me. My gaze is always there to meet hers, and, as my revenge, I pull out a Snickers and start chomping down on it, rubbing in the fact that I can move my legs in an elliptical shape and eat a yummy candy bar at the same time. Mmmmm. I'm so gross. ¶ 1:55 PM 0 comments
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Capisci? (sp)
Sometimes I forget how wonderful and advantageous it is to know how to write. I can write knowing that I will be understood, that certain thoughts can be made common knowledge. This is just something to pause upon, because, in this digital world of prolific bloggers, it can be easy to forget.
¶ 1:37 PM 1 comments
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Chess
Today, after numerous and only defeats, I finally won a game of chess...against my Mom...who hasn't played since 4th grade (so she claims). I've only ever played against Ryan, and he has only ever beat me, oftentimes having to comfort me because I'm a such a sore loser. But, today, I have regained confidence and believe that maybe I am intelligent enought to learn this game.
CONCLUSION: Ryan, prepare for war. ¶ 2:50 PM 1 comments
CONCLUSION: Ryan, prepare for war. ¶ 2:50 PM 1 comments
