Daybreak and the Hungry House

"May my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living"

2011-07-25T21:55:00.000-07:00

So, let’s talk about faith for a second.

I constantly refer to myself as a bad Jew, a failed Jew, a Jew-in-a-holding-pattern. Yet at the same time I fully believe that somewhere within me there dwells a nice Jewish girl fighting to break free through all the laziness, ignorance and doubt so that she can bake challah and observe the Shabbos in peace.

At the same time, I find my Jewishness to be more of an ethnicity than a religion. In the few times that I have gone to services I have felt very, very moved and touched by all that I experienced around me. But it had nothing to do with God or faith itself, rather what I found affecting was the fact of being surrounded by my people, hearing Hebrew, the voice of the Cantor rising in the air. But none of this connects to divinity for me, or at least not the sort of divinity that one is expected to feel or approach when sitting in a synagogue (or church, or mosque, or whatever). But I can’t shake this longing that I seem to have for faith, the act of belief, maybe even—dare I say it?—God. I love the idea of belief, of deity, of something somewhere that helps spin the world.

But… I find this difficult, so difficult. Belief, I mean. The possibility of God. How could such a thing exist? Where is God? What is God? I actually think that belief itself, the process of faith, is what’s important here, not any actual truth of the divine. Whether or not God exists shouldn’t matter as much as the process of believing in him/her/it. So why can’t I do it? Why does belief seem so impossible to me? It doesn’t make sense, but that’s the point, it’s about trusting in something beyond yourself, not rationalizing everything into some logical conclusion (a process I’m very, very good at and am obviously loathe to abandon).

Here’s a story from my day though. I was driving somewhere and I saw one of those things that manages to simultaneously destroy and reaffirm all my faith in humanity. I was at the intersection for this major street that connects campus to capitol and is generally full of people and ways to spend money. The light was green but some guy dashed across the road in front of me so I slowed down but didn’t think much of it, ‘cause, you know, there’s always some jackass who feels that traffic laws are just gentle suggestions. Anyway. Then, a second later, I see this old man, probably in his 70s, running after him. Obviously that first guy had just mugged him and, guys, there are few things sadder than the sight of an old man running to catch his mugger. But then I look over and some kid, probably an undergrad, clearly shorter and skinnier than the mugger, has put himself directly in this guy’s way to try to stop him. The mugger slams the kid down to the ground and keeps running. By this point I was almost past the intersection and couldn’t stop to keep watching but the last thing I saw was the kid getting up and running after the mugger. I don’t know what else happened, I hope he stopped him; I hope the old man got his wallet or whatever back. It was just one of those moments where all the bad and all the good in people sort of comes together and you think, if you’re not careful, all that well-built cynical façade is going to fall away and then who knows what will happen.

So what does that have to do with faith? Well, nothing, I thought. Then a very good friend pointed out to me that maybe this is the proof, the evidence I seem to need. Being in a position to witness the small tragedy and triumph of that moment. She also said she knew I wouldn’t believe that. And she’s right, it is hard to believe. Belief is hard. I don’t know how it works, or, rather, how it could work within me. But, still, it’s good to see something that is, well, a shadow of a possibility, maybe. Veiled, nevertheless, by all this endless, persistent doubt.

"Whatever they sing is better than to know

and if men should not hear them men are old."

-e.e cummings

"Let the immeasurable come. Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine"*

2011-07-07T22:00:00.000-07:00

I tend to avoid this blog; I don’t actually know if blogging is for me. I think it’s because I know that I can never be completely honest and open in anything that goes out into the internet in this way. Despite the low, low readership, of course, hah. Because writing is such a very important thing to me, it can seem like writing anything that isn’t a complete disclosure is a sort of dishonesty. I don’t actually think that’s true, but it feels like it sometimes. And that’s why I don’t really blog.

But at the same time, it’s also why I have this bit of the world wide web to myself. The possibility of disclosure, connectivity—hell, that fascinating and terrifying concept of vulnerability—is appealing enough to keep the door open. Well, maybe not a whole door, maybe not even a window, maybe just a small opening, big enough only for a cat.

All of this is to say, really, man, I do not do well with unstructured time. I have never liked summers. Well, I shouldn’t say never. Last summer was kind of wonderful. Yes, in all its back-and-forth-relationship-drama glory, it was still, hands down, one of my best summers. I bike or walk around town now and end up, more often than not, at one of the little beaches in the parks by the lakes. They’re really nice, but sometimes they just make me sad thinking of that amazing beach on Lake Michigan, all blue sky and sand and the waves smashing against the shore. These are such little lakes, so passionless. But that—the great Lake Michigan—now there’s a lake, all wide expanses and fierce waters. I miss fierceness. Most summers, despite their heat, their sunshine and blue skies, they still feel gray and flat to me.

Anyway, what I’m getting at is that I can’t seem to get anything done when all I have is time. I blink and suddenly it’s July and I haven’t done anything I meant to do—painting my bedroom, turning a seminar paper into an article, reading all the books I’ve been putting off due to lack of time. I don’t know where the time goes, but the days pass and I seem to have nothing to show for it. That’s the problem with long periods of down time—all the anxiety I generally feel about, well, practically everything, gets generalized and turns inward because I suddenly seem to lack a focal point to funnel it all toward.

It might be a matter of will power, it might be something else, but I should really get a handle on things soon. Otherwise, suddenly it will be August and time for ENG100 training and I will have done almost nothing of academic/professional use. That will be okay, of course, it won’t sink me or anything, but it’s just discouraging to feel like I can’t control myself enough to sit down and just do these things. And then comes all the introspection and self-analysis. And then I write a blog. So, what can you do, right?

*For most of my poetry-reading life, I thought that I hated Mary Oliver. I have recently discovered that I am, in fact, deeply wrong about this belief. Despite all my best efforts, I'm, apparently, a genuine Mary Oliver fan.**

**More evidence of how my understanding of myself is collapsing around me: At a friend's brunch the other day, I tried bacon again (something I do about biannually, when fancy strikes) and found that it actually tasted good this time around. My sense of self is obviously all in shambles now.

A convoluted love letter to Juliet Burke

2011-03-30T12:56:00.000-07:00

I've decided to not recap Lost anymore because it keeps me from marathoning it in huge chunks. And, you know, watching eight hours of a television show in a row is one of life's greatest joys for losers like me. So right now I'm about nine (?) episodes into the third season and shit is just bananas. I've come to the conclusion that Lost is the kind of show where you either get frustrated and lose interest, or you completely buy into the weird-ass mythology/whatever and just let the crazy wash over you. So that's what I'm doing. Plus, now that Juliet Burke is there, I don't even care what they do as long as I get to see Elizabeth Mitchell shoot things, run around, and look at the camera in that glorious hard/soft way. This is pretty much the epitome of what "does it for me." I can appreciate a pretty woman, I can even ogle one without too much of a problem (though I usually don't in real life). But that look? That combination of steely determination and incomprehensibly deep kindness? Well. That's all it takes. I swear to god I will be your love slave forever if you look at me like that.

I'm sure many of you didn't need to know that about me, but, you know, whatever. If I feel like writing a love letter to Elizabeth Mitchell and every other kind-but-tough looking woman, then I'll do it, dammit. I just have this deep attraction to strength. Often, for me, it goes hand in hand with masculinity (95% of the time, I'm talking about a female type of masculinity, or a queer masculinity, something enacted by a non-biologically male body) but certainly not always. I just, honestly, there's nothing more beautiful than a steely-eyed, strong woman who carries herself in this rough but composed way because you know, you just know, that beneath that strength there is something softer and maybe sweeter (sweeter because it is tempered with a sort of sadness, a hardness). These are the kind of women you (by which I mean, I) want to touch and be touched by. And I don't mean sexually (well, not most of the time), but in this deeper way, a sort of connection. Something between mother and friend, where maybe they can reach out and cup your cheek and tell you everything will be alright. And next time you can return the favor.

And so far (keep in mind, I'm not even at the midpoint of season three, so who knows what crazy shit will happen), that's what I feel Juliet is. Hard and soft. Strong and vulnerable. And when she looks at you, well, it doesn't matter. She could heal you, fix you, love you, or send you packing with a bullet. And in some way, it doesn't matter which of those she chooses to do because there's still some sort of undercurrent of trust. Even if she kills you, you trust her to do it. That probably doesn't make much sense, but, not everything has to.

I'm looking forward to seeing how Juliet develops and if I still feel like this about her character when I finish watching this crazy clusterfuck of a show. I don't even know. Anything could happen. MAYBE JULIET IS SECRETLY THE POLAR BEAR? :)

"Did you just throw a banana at me?" "I couldn't find any rocks"*

2011-02-14T21:50:00.000-08:00

*Yes, so, I got on the Kate/Sawyer bandwagon. WHAT OF IT.

Lest you worry that this blog will suddenly and permanently turn super serious, fear not! I come bearing more Lost rambling.

2.11 "The Hunting Party"

Flashbacks to Dr. Jack. Sigh. A Jack episode? Lame. Can Jack do miracles? I hope so. I still want to know what it is that makes him a good leader. I wish that was something quantifiable. He does have a nice smile, when he lets himself. NO I WILL NOT BE CONVERTED TO LIKING JACK. I REFUSE.

Ooh, Michael with a gun. I kind of enjoy his crazed-father act for some reason. Also, I wonder how Michael got the jump on Locke, he's usually such a badass.

And now the button might go unpushed! I really, really want to see what happens if no one pushes it.

Wooo, Sawyer wants to saddle up. "You're still on antibiotics" "It's a good thing I'm traveling with my doctor, then" -- The man makes a fair point, Jack.

I wonder if Jack will sleep with the hot Italian chick. He seems the type. One of those smart-dumb sensitive boys who ends up in compromising positions and has no idea how it happened.

I think the theme of this episode is whether Jack is a miracle worker.

Also, shut the fuck up, John, and let Kate come. Again, I ask, WHY ARE YOU THE FUCKING LEADER OMG. UGH. Kate looks much better with a gun than any of these yokels. Except maybe Sawyer. Or Sayid, but he's not part of the hunting party.

Hehe, Jin in a funny hat.

Super-Jin to the rescue! I love how Jin has changed, how he's so dedicated to helping everybody now. And much less of a sexist dick. Oh, Sun, shut up and let him go play hero. Blargh. But I guess the fact that he stayed makes him a good guy.

Jack, you are such an obnoxious dumbshit. "Who are we to tell anyone what they can and cannot do?" Damn right, Locke. They shouldn't be trying to bring Michael back, they should be helping him find the kid.

Also, he totally slept with the Italian chick, didn't he? Definitely the type.

I don't think they should've let Sawyer come on this shindig. He's still kind of injured, isn't he?

Mother of god, Jack is such a dumb bastard omg. You hear gunshots and instead of sitting still you run off yelling for "Michael?" Blargh. Should've left him locked up.

Oh, bummer, Jack didn't fix the Italian dude. Still time to sleep with his daughter though. Making out in the parking lot, taking advantage of this woman's grief. Nice job, dickhead.

"You don't just lose a trail" -- Yeah, you do. God, I hate your idiotic hero complex, Jack.

But, oooh, strange bearded man in the jungle. Of course you guys are surrounded. Come on now.

Yay, they're going to have a talk! I'm super excited for this talk.

And back at the homestead, Hurley and Charlie are talking about girls. "Do you think Claire misses me yet?" "Dude, it's been a day" Snerk. Oh Hurley, I love you. Go hit on that Libby chick. I give you my blessings. Mazel tov, my friend.

Heyyy, Sayid, I missed you. "This music is quite depressing" haha.

And back to the Hill Folk. Who come in peace, apparently. For once.

"This is not your island. This is our island" -- That's kind of awesome. And then they all light up their flames. This is excellent. I'm enjoying the crazy Hill Folk.

Oh noes, they caught Kate. Also, "bring her out, Alex," that's Rousseau's kid. Spectacular.

Enough posturing, boys. Do what's right. Good thing Kate is a main character (not a supporting player like Boone and Shannon), so, she won't die. Psh, what is this, Whedon?

Also, I don't get the Hill Folk. I still think it would be smarter to just absorb the newcomers into their group, widen the gene pool and all that. Unless they island can't support so many people, but, I don't know, I think it could.

Anyway, it doesn't matter, look at how pretty Hawaii is. I mean, the haunted island. Jin, dude, of course you don't like being told what to do. But that's life, so stfu and deal. Or divorce.

Well, that was a failed rescue expedition.

And now back to Jack's failed marriage. Idiot, why are you telling your wife about the kissing. I suppose it's a good thing. "I promise things are going to be different"--how often does that work out? Of course she's leaving you. Sorry, dude. Oh no, she's been cheating. Bummer. "You will always need something to fix"--I guess that's the real theme of this episode.

Locke playing with the baby is completely cute and adorable. And I'm glad Ana Lucia is making reluctant friends with Vincent the poor neglected dog, whose owners keep leaving or dying.

Oh, lol, Jack, you want to train an army. I like that the episode ends on this.

SWEET. It is on, Hill Folk, IT IS FUCKING ON.

“Bring me something back from that sunny coast and keep us moving on”

2011-01-31T22:47:00.000-08:00

In the interest of pretending that there is more to my existence than watching Lost, I figured I should write a proper blog. About… I don’t know, my current life. As near as I can tell, it is 60% academia/teaching, 15% assorted movie and T.V show watching (Lost, Mad Men, West Wing, and, god help me, I’m even rewatching the glorious crapfest that is The L Word on Netflix), 15% friends, and 10% other assorted social interactions. And sleeping. I’ve been doing a whole lot of sleeping. And awesome chess playing (the playing itself is awesome, I am decidedly NOT awesome).

The weather is getting me down, man. For whatever reason, this winter seems worse than all other winters. This is nonsensical, of course, but you know, the skies are grayer, the cold is colder, blah, blah, melancholy blah. I don’t know what it is, but I think I may need to invest in a happy lamp. Or just pay less attention. Tomorrow is the start of February, my absolute least favorite month ever. I know it’s the shortest but it feels like it lasts forever. Anytime I think of winter, it’s always February. The damn thing just goes on and on.

I am taking this class on collective memory and history, so I’ve been thinking about memory as a process a lot lately, just for kicks, not academics (yet). Just in general terms, I find it really interesting, the fact of what I remember and what I forget, and how, and at what price. I would extend this musing to a more general question of memory construction, but I’m no expert, I only know how I do things (on the surface anyway; those of you who really know me, are probably aware of how much I like to hide my real motivations from myself).

How does my brain decide what to remember and what to forget? I am full of completely useless information about nothing, for example, but half the time I can’t even manage to recall what I read in some article. And what about people? Sometimes I just randomly remember some person I knew in elementary school, someone I haven’t seen in years and years, but I can immediately recall their full name, what they looked like, our interactions, etc. But I can’t remember the names of the people I met at the last brunch I attended. None of these are groundbreaking thoughts, of course. It’s just interesting to think about sometimes.

I think I’m circling the subject of what I really want to talk about because this is kind of a public blog (in theory anyway, not that it’s read much) and I’d like to keep some sense of decorum. I guess I’m thinking about my various exes and how my memories of them have taken form over the years (or months, as the more recent case may be). Is the way I remember them connected to the amount of importance I’ve attached to them (as influences in my life, as people)? Or is it a simpler matter of how much time has passed? Overall, I think I’m happy with how I’ve sort of laid out the memories in my mind. Even the hardest break-up (the one that took me, quite literally, years to get over, and yes, I’m kind of ashamed of that) seems to be arranged rather neatly now—as neatly as an intangible thing can be arranged, I suppose. I don’t think about her much, and when I do, I mostly remember good things. And it doesn’t hurt anymore. But when news about her comes to me through the gossip grapevine, it still means something. But only in this weird nostalgic way. I am noticing all this, I think, because since I spent such an embarrassingly long time being a pseudo-mess about it that now it brings me a sense of pleasure and relief to notice how decidedly un-mess-like I am about the whole thing. And the most recent thing (from this summer), it seemed like such a big deal at the time, but now? Aside from the ego bruise, it’s pretty much gone. It’s kind of amazing and it makes me want to have a better understanding of how my silly little brain functions.

Memory is unreliable; I know that’s a fact that gets tons of play in various fields. But it’s unreliable in a really interesting way. I have this memory from when I was a kid (back in the old country, even) and I have no idea—none—whether it actually happened or if it was just a weird/bad dream I had once. But then all my ridiculous education kicks in and I start asking myself if it even matters if the memory is real, if the important thing isn’t just whether or not I think it’s real and treat it as such? If something didn’t happen but feels like it did, is it ultimately the same damn thing? On the emotional/intellectual/whatever level at least, obviously it’s a different ballgame if the memory impacts others in any way. It's like the ending of Inception--everyone kept talking about the end and OMG WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENED. Well, I find it kind of irrelevant. SPOILER-don't read the last part of this paragraph if you care about this stuff-SPOILER: Either the top stopped spinning or it didn't, either Leo's character was in a dream or he wasn't. Ultimately, it doesn't matter. As long as he thinks it's reality, then it's as good as. Of course dreams aren't like that in reality. Not my dreams anyway. I've been having some crappy ones lately, to be honest, but I'm usually (almost always) aware that I'm dreaming.

Anyway. All this stuff, it’s fun to think about, that’s all I have to say about the whole thing. This has been as pointless a ramble as ever. This is what happens when you mix late nights, gray skies, snowstorms, and a creative block.

I’ll be back to inane pop culture soon, I promise. Though I do want to write about teaching at some point too. Thank you, internet, for providing me with a space where I can narcissistically air all my petty, pointless thoughts. Much cheaper than therapy, in any case.

"How'd you know about the plane? It's old, you know. It's been out in the jungle for years. Of course, you would know that, you know everything"

2011-01-28T13:27:00.000-08:00

2.10 "The 23rd Psalm"

Flashback to Charlie and his super fun heroin habit. Sigh. This is going to be a Charlie episode, then? Bummer.

Oh, poor Eko. Sigh. I have nothing snarky to say about this African child soldier thing. It's just sad as hell.

Aaron spoke for Moses? I wonder WHAT THIS SIGNIFIES. Will the baby speak for all our sins?

No, Claire, Charlie carries around the statue of the Virgin Mary because it's full of smack (is that what the kids call it nowadays?). Oh go Eko, smash that thing open.

Charlie, babycakes, you are in trouble now. If Jin doesn't stab you for scaring off all the fish then Eko will definitely cut a bitch.

I'm thinking Eko's African gang sold/transported heroin in virgin Mary statues? Hell, why not. OH HOLD ON I THINK THE DUDE WHO PLAYS EKO WAS ADEBISI ON OZ (the HBO prison drama), and the guy who plays Michael was on Oz too. HBO prison drama = haunted island. Interesting transference happening here.

Yes, Charlie, sprinkle the heroin all over the beach! Maybe something pretty will grow?

I like Locke. I'm still not sure why, but I do.

Charlie, you lying scumbag. I kind of want to watch Eko punch your lights out. Oooh, he knows about the plane. "You come traipsing around the island and suddenly you're in charge?" Well, maybe he should be. African drug lord or not, Eko is totally more on top of things than you are, Charlie.

OOH SMOKE MONSTER. Yeah, let's just ignore that then.

Is the kid (the priest) the one that Eko saved from having to shoot that old man? Yes, yes it is. I love when my questions are immediately answered.

Aw, Kate is giving Sawyer a haircut. Snort. "You don't have to be belligerent for belligerency's sake. Everyone loves you now." "Bullpuckey." Awesome.

See, Sawyer, everyone does love you now despite that prickly demeanor. It's cause you're such a handsome son of a bitch.

Ooh, a parachute in the jungle. And a dead priest. Nothing surprises me anymore, really. Ugh, stop touching the decomposing body, Eko, I don't care how awesome you are.

"Make us priests and we will fly the drugs out ourselves" -- I kind of love that sentence.

Eko and Charlie are kind of an odd combo. Doesn't stop me from wanting to see Charlie and Eko Go to White Castle.

Hahaha, Eko tells him to climb the tree, "What if I don't? Are you going to beat me with your Jesus stick?" Snerk. Yeah, everyone is gonna get beaten with the Jesus stick...

Oh, Eko, you made him climb that tree for his own safety, I knew it, OH SMOKE MONSTER WTF IS IT PURRING AT EKO? THE PURRING SMOKE MONSTER? WUT?

Dude. You stared down the smoke monster and won. That was awesome.

Seriously though, I don't think that's Walt communicating to Michael through Island Wide Web.

Yeah, yeah, shut up, Jack, gotta focus on the computer now. GODDAMMIT JACK, YOU RUIN EVERYTHING. I seem to be using an inordinate amount of caps lock today. Odd, that.

Eko has kind of had a tragic life, it would appear. Both brothers end up on the same island in the end though. Aw, man, Eko, I'm sorry. Watching you cuddle the decomposing body is still all kinds of gross, but, you know, mostly just sad.

I guess it makes sense why Charlie needs to carry the heroin around, to sort of remind him of what not to do.

Charlie and Eko are an interesting pair. Religious boys who went down the wrong path (boy did they), but who are still--down at some core--the believers they once were. Religion is a really interesting theme throughout Lost, hmm.

I'm not much for religion, obviously, but Eko reciting the Lord's Prayer is strangely affecting. Especially how it's overlayed over all these scenes of community bonding, of people forgiving each other and helping, reaching out. Jin and Sun bringing Ana Lucia a fish. And Hurley helping/hitting on Libby. Sawyer and Kate. Hell, I'm even feeling warmly toward Jack. And now I'm feeling bad for Charlie. Goddamit, Lost, why can't you just let me hate a character in peace without complicating it all with emotion and understanding. Fuuuck.

Except Charlie has a stash of heroin-filled Virgin Marys. This somewhat messes with all the empathy I had built up for him over the last hour. Up and down, that's the way it goes, I guess.

"It looks like they went bloody Lord of the Flies out there"

2011-01-22T08:41:00.000-08:00

2.9 "What Kate Did"

I'm already predisposed to like this episode, just from the title alone. I'm dying to know what Kate did. Also, Kate can pretty much do whatever she wants, so, you know, whatever. But this episode lacks subtitles too. WHAT THE HELL, NETFLIX. SHOW A LITTLE CONSISTENCY.

Oh Jin, look at you, you stud-muffin. Check out those washboard abs, that finely chiseled chest. I guess Sayid finally has some competition in the Island Hunk contest (no, Jack is not in the running) (yes, Sawyer is) (Charlie? Psh. Bitch, please. This is the Island Hunk competition, not the Whiny Hipster Drug Addict Pageant) (sorry, Hurley, you're cool and all, but I'm just as vain as everybody else when it comes to the appearances of fictional characters) (okay, I know I love parenthetical asides, but this may be getting out of hand now).

Anyway. Somebody's been getting laid all night, that much is obvious. I will totally fist bump you, Jin. Hurley's thumbs-up is the next best thing, I guess. Also, the whole raft/attack by hill folk/being held at gunpoint by Ana Lucia thing has done wonders for Jin's personality. I'm just saying.

Well, of course Sawyer loves Kate. I mean, come on, Jack, have you SEEN Kate?

Man. I hate when I'm just picking mangos in the jungle of the haunted, deserted island AND THIS RANDOM HORSE APPEARS WTF. Is there a Black Stallion/Lost mashup out there?

Yeah, so, I'll say it. I'm glad Kate blew up that guy. I'm not sure what he did yet, exactly, but there's obvious creepy undertones of possible (at the least threatened or attempted, if not successful) sexual abuse there.

And of course Kate rides a motorcycle. Mmm.

Ohh hey, it's Aunt Zelda from Sabrina the Teenage Witch (hello, my childhood). Oh fucker. Now I'm even more glad that Kate blew that abusive dickwad up. So, I mean, I know that murder is wrong and all that, but I think she deserves a goddamn medal. Honestly, a parade, 76 bloody trombones.

Ana is building her camp apart from everyone else. I'm kind of a sucker for these kinds of characters--ultimately good people who do bad things and end up mired in guilt. Their redemption arcs are always interesting (example: Faith).

Poor Sayid. He never gets to be with the women he loves, it seems.

Kate playing nurse is kind of cute. Don't mind Sawyer, honey, he's just possessed by the island.

Oooh, it's the alarm. Just let it go guys, I want to see if you all blow up. Or if the island sinks like Atlantis. Or if the polar bears show up walking on their hind legs (yes, I'm kind of fixated on the damn polar bears).

Also, my dislike for Charlie is growing, can't explain why.

Oh, it's the damn marshal. Her mother sold her out?? Ugh. Why the fuck. Killing the abusive bastard you married should be cause for accolades.

Haha, Jin getting the handcuff off. He and Michael are totally bros now.

Nooo, Kate, don't make out with Jack. I don't understand why emotionally charged scenes so often end this way. I don't think I've ever been tempted to start making out with someone I was arguing with, even if I was dating them at the time. Well, I guess it's okay since she'd moved on to crying by this point. Anyway, I'm just nit-picking because I don't want to support what seems to be a pretty central ship (Jack/Kate).

No, Locke, the reasons for pushing the button are not self-explanatory. This whole thing is just one big psychological experiment, maybe. Kind of how creating Earth was just a way to find the question to the answer of the meaning of life (42, duh) in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

The marshal is a dick. Saved by the horse, woot.

I've always liked the idea of hiding things in a hollowed out book. Too bad I don't really have anything to hide. Plus, taking a knife or scissors to a book just seems kind of barbaric. Still, if I did have anything to hide...

The thing about Hurley is that he kind of reminds me of Xander. He's utterly ordinary (aside from his lottery winnings and bad luck) but oddly important to the dynamic of the group. But, uh, I've never really liked Xander. Make of that what you will.

Ooh. Okay. So. Military dad is not really Kate's dad. The blown-up asshole is. But if she'd known she would have killed him (which, to be fair, she did). But... why? Because she didn't know? There's gotta be more to it. INTERESTING.

At least he gives her an hour to escape. I don't know, these people have a really strong sense of duty to the law. I can't help but think that if I were in such a situation, I would most likely not bother calling the police or telling them anything about my murderous kid (unless I thought their reason for killing wasn't good enough, or if they were psychotic serial killers--that's different). I have weird morals.

Ohh, thanks for the explanation, Kate. Because she hated that he was a part of her because it meant that she would never be good. Alright, kind of flimsy as far as excuses as go (the fact that he beat her mom and probably sexually abused her is a better reason), but I still fully support you, Kate. He seemed like a total waste-of-space asshat. So, you know, rock on with your badass vigilante self.

I'm getting more and more onboard with the whole Kate/Sawyer thing. They're kind of sweet together.

Hey, Sawyer sees the horse too. See, Kate, you're not crazy. The horse (Black Beauty or the Black Stallion) has just been created by the island in order to assuage you of your guilt and tell you that it's okay to kill abusive alcoholic assholes who leer at you and beat your mom. Says who? Says me. And the horse, naturally.

Hmm. Jack/Ana could be interesting. He's dull as dirt, of course, Lost's very own Captain Cardboard, but she's feisty, troubled, and interesting enough to keep this boat afloat maybe. Also, haha, Jack thinks every woman in the world is crazy. What a creative thing to say. Whatever, Jack.

Blah, blah, don't use the computer for communicating. Can't have that can we, it would just ruin the experiment, wouldn't it? Urgh.

Excellent foreshadowing, show, because here is Michael, using the computer to communicate. Sure, you think it's Walt. But it's probably Moloch. That's the way these things work, yep. Just ask Willow (I can't help it, Buffy just kind of slips into everything).

Good episode. I'm more and more convinced that my ethics are grayer and muddier than is entirely appropriate. Whoops.

"What are you talking about?" "Ignore him, he's an idiot"*

2011-01-16T21:15:00.000-08:00

*What I always want to say about Charlie...

More Lost blogging! Mine is an exciting life, obviously. Classes and teaching start this week, so hopefully I will have something more interesting to say soon.

2.8 "Collision"

Sniff. Poor Shannon. Sayid is PISSED.

Oooh, backstory. Aw, Ana, here's that inner turmoil and PTSD I was looking for.

This shrink totally wouldn't do it for me. Also, come on, it's obvious she's not ready to go back to work. Though it's completely unsurprising that she's a cop. A really hot cop. Um. Anyway.

Back to the jungle now. Ana is so trigger-happy, that shrink was obviously wrong to send her back to work. Granted, there's probably been more traumas along the way.

Haha, Michael to gun-waving Ana: "... Are you crazy?" Well, yes, obviously. But in a sexy way. Yeah, I don't know what's wrong with me either.

Working for your mother must be so awkward, especially if you're cops.

Oh. Kate. Heyyy, girl. With all this excitement over Ana Lucia I briefly forgot about you. She sure is easy on the eyes. Ahem. Also, I love that they found a golf set. No better place for golf than a haunted island.

Yeah, Ana is definitely not ready to be back at work. Her partner looks familiar--at first I thought it was the guy who played Sam on LOTR (to go along with Dominic whatever, the guy who plays Charlie, who was Merry or Pippin or somebody), but I don't think it's him.

Ah, Kate and Jack playing golf. Nice to know there's a perfectly manicured lawn that just randomly happens to exist on this here deserted island. Maybe the smoke monster likes a few rounds of golf too.

I love when Kate gloats. Jack, you obviously suck at golf. And then a savage walked out of the jungle carrying Sawyer! Woo! I really can't stop being bothered by the way Eko is presented. Whatevs. Just going to focus on how weird his facial hair is (it's growing in in patches).

Anyway. Thank god there's a mysterious bunker with all the amenities. And that fucking button. I agree with whoever said (I think it was Jack) that it's probably an experiment designed to see how long you can get people to press a button for no reason that they know of.

The guy they arrested, in the flashbacks, the one that shot Ana, he's really funny looking. He's got a face like a camel. Ugly bastard.

Oh, look, Shannon's dead body. Sigh. How long until rigor mortis sets in, anyway?

I really like Locke and I'm honestly not sure if I should. Can't wait to see how he ended up in that wheelchair; I understand why he loves the island so much. If I was paralyzed and a haunted island magically gave me my ability to walk again, I'd be pretty happy. Might even take up boar-hunting. The backstory on him is interesting thus far too. WIth the crazy father who swindled him out of a kidney. The thing that I find most hilarious though is how in the flashbacks, to show that someone was younger, they do so by giving them really fucking stupid hair (Locke, Jack, Boone, etc. Except for Kate. Kate always has perfect hair. And everything else).

Oh Ana, honey, everyone is leaving you. It's okay, you look really good in that tank top at least. Obviously I have priorities.

Also, Sayid seems to make a habit out of being tied up by attractive women. I mean, he's pretty hot too, so I guess I can see why.

Give it up, Jack. No one does the silent treatment like Mr. Eko. Also, seriously, who fucking died and made you king of this sorry little hill, Jack? Honestly, I don't even.. ugh, whatever. Mysterious leadership quality blah blah. Fine.

Ana is playing with that gun like it's the warmest thing in her world. Poor woman. I love how everyone on this show is deeper than they appear--mark of good writing. I'm glad that Ana and Sayid are bonding.

I'm also glad that Ana shot that camel-faced asshole dead. Sometimes (more often than I should admit, really) I think the justice system is an overrated waste of time. Vigilante justice is just so much more elegant and useful for certain things.

Aw, it's Vincent. I like Vincent the dog. I hope Michael gets around to finding Walt sometime soon too. But, I mean, no rush, whatever. I'm sure the scary hill folk are taking great care of him.

I had no idea Charlie liked Jin that much--dude just threw himself at him. Sun is all, la la la, I have washing to do, what is all this hullabaloo.

Ohhhh Bernie & Rose. Best reunion ever omg, I might cry. OKAY FINE I MAY HAVE GOTTEN TEARY-EYED, SHUT UP, I DON'T HAVE A HEART OF STONE, YOU KNOW. PROBABLY NOT ANYWAY. SNIFF.

The award for the best double-take ever goes to Sun, I think, definitely. Sigh. I really do love reunion scenes.

God, this is surprisingly affecting. With the music and Sayid hugging Shannon's dead body to him and that look on Jack's face (sort of a cross between deep concern and constipation) and poor, tortured (in the emotional way this time) Ana Lucia. Oh, Lost, what is this, I'm supposed to be laughing at the ridiculousness of your situation, not sniffling at touching reunion scenes.

Fine. You win this time, show, but we'll see who prevails in the end! I am a Whedonite! Nobody knows how to take pain like we do! Take it, and then beg for more. Bring it, Lost. Just bring it.

"How'd you get shot, anyway?" "With a gun"

2011-01-13T19:58:00.000-08:00

Today was kind of difficult. So, in an effort to completely ignore dealing with that, I'm just going to ramble about pop culture. That's cool, right?

Apparently, stream-of-consciousness commentary and snarking is really fun to write, so I just sort of yammered on about the Lost episodes I was watching. Again, I'm not starting from the beginning because this whole blogging escapade didn't occur to me until pretty much now. Also, there are going to be spoilers. I'm sorry, I just don't care about keeping anybody spoiler free. It's no fun to watch something for the first time and constantly worry about how much you can say about it. Consider this your warning: HERE BE SPOILERS (and possibly dragons, I mean, this is Lost we're talking about, so, who knows).

2.6 "Abandoned"

Oh Michelle Rodriguez. There is something both intensely attractive and terrifying about her. Like, you'd have the most awesome sex all night then wake up the next morning naked, chained to a radiator.

Anyway. I like how Jin only speaks Korean but is magically able to understand almost everything that is said to him nonetheless.

Charlie is driving me kind of nuts. I thought he was adorably goofy at first (also stupid, cause, you know, heroin-addicted), but now I just want to smack him any time he says anything to Claire about the baby.

Why do I like Shannon? She's an obnoxious prissy little princess, but there's just something about her. Maybe I just like blondes.

If Sayid doesn't cut his disgustingly long thumbnails (the rest of his nails too probably) I might vomit. He's a shockingly attractive man, but that thumbnail claw ruins everything.

Oh shit, Cindy is gone. Probably eaten by the forest cannibals. I mean, I don't know that they're cannibals, but, hey, there's polar bears on this island, so, why not.

I can't wait to meet the crazy hill folk.

Also, I think I like Shannon because she's more than just a prissy blonde, she's just not entirely sure of it herself. But she could be.

Sayid, honey, look at your perfectly trimmed beard. Look at all the dudes' and their lovely facial hair control habits. Given all that, is it really impossible to find a goddamn nail trimmer thing on this island for your despicable nail-claws?

Oh hai Walt. So why is it that when the little maybe-there-maybe-not ghost boy makes "be quiet" signs at you, your first reaction is to scream his name and run after him?

And now she's shot. Of course. Goodbye Shannon, you were so very pretty and so full of promise. Ana, you're going to feel terrible about this, aren't you? You're a prickly bitch but something tells me there's a heart of gold and some PTSD buried deep inside you somewhere.

2.7 "The Other 48 Days"

Awesome. I'm actually really excited to find out about what all they've been doing. New characters are such a relief sometimes. It's good to get a break from Charlie's whining and Jack's obnoxious constant search for a moral high ground.

Man. I love the plane crash scene. Makes me think of the first part of the first episode which--say what you will about the series as a whole--made for some fucking excellent television.

I just kind of love seeing how people deal with unexpected chaos. It's not because I like watching people suffer or any of that, I just like watching them react and deal. Like, immediately you see what kind of personality this person has. Sexy African dude, Mr. Eko, is all about saving adorable children (and anyone else). Ana freaks out but ultimately gets her shit together.

Also, on a wholly unrelated note, WHY DOES THIS EPISODE NOT HAVE SUBTITLES OMG WUT ... What? I like to read my T.V. It's a thing. I seriously find it much easier to just read the words--listening takes far too much effort. And then you miss stuff and--HOLY SHIT SHE JUST TURNED THAT DUDE'S FOOT ALL THE WAY AROUND OR SOME SUCH. That's hot.

Maybe it's time to stop fighting the fact that maybe I just like blondes. Sigh.

Oh hey Bernard. That's an interesting position to find yourself in. Haha, Ana tells him he'll be alright and he makes this brief "yeah, sure, and then I'll grow wings and fly" face before the paralyzing fear takes over again. Come on, Bernie. You can do it. Grab that tree branch thing. Attaboy.

I feel like "what are you, a boy scout?" is a very common and overused thing to say to anyone who knows how to do anything (the dude making fire on the beach).

Also, hahaha. He was in the peace corps. Ana: "Do they still have that?" Snerk. I don't know why this is so funny.

Oh Bernie, honey. I hope you don't kick the bucket before you're reunited with your wife, cause, frankly, this is really the only thing that has seriously pulled at my heartstrings so far (warning: my heartstrings are brittle and dessicated).

The hill folk! Goooo Mr. Eko, kill the hill folk! Also, I'm sure there's all sorts of interesting commentary to be had about the portrayal of the African male character. I mean, really. But, I'm enjoying some pop culture here. I'm not going to talk about the fact that they make Eko appear like some sort of nobel savage or something. Nope. Not talking about it.

Yes, Ana, these people were here before you. You can tell by the folksy home-spun nature of their clothes.

Isn't it nice how in the midst of all the insanity the womenfolk can keep their legs properly shaved? Not just the new people, but the ones on the other side of the island. I don't know about you, but I'm grateful. Nothing worse than some chick's hairy legs. That's the first step to not making sandwiches. Then feminism, bra-burning, and the end of the world. On a deserted island you gotta have priorities, man.

Heyyy, a wild chicken wtf. How come the other guys (not "the Others") don't have wild chicken? Cause they have boar, I guess. This island provides some clearly demarcated zones for its animal life, I guess. Except for the polar bears. The polar bears can roam where they please. Why? Because they're fucking polar bears. On a tropical island. Hell. Yes.

Why are you giving this suspicious guy shit for going to the bathroom for too long? I'm sure he's been eating a lot of roughage or some such. Makes sense.

WOOO SCARY HILL FOLK IN HOME-SPUN APPAREL.

Mass kidnapping under way. Also, I don't like this boy-scout-peace-corps-hero guy.

Aside: How do people pick leaders? Obviously Ana is the queen of this half of the survivors while boring Jack reigns over the other half. Why is this? I mean, so, Ana is tough and willing to deal with shit, so she kind of gets thrust into that position. Jack is a doctor, so he's important and useful, but Lost is trying to tell us (or just me) that there is a certain something about Jack that rallies people to him and makes them trust him and want to follow him (not seeing that as much about Ana yet, though I already like her infinitely more than Jack, even if she did shoot Shannon by accident *sniffle*). There's this mysterious quality that makes people leaders and it's hard to explain what it is or how to recreate it, no matter how many leadership seminars you attend. End aside. Back to the chaos.

I wonder how the hill folk pick who to take. The kids are sort of obvious, 'cause, I mean, you can replenish your population, I guess. But I wonder if any of the non-taken are starting to feel left out.

Come onnnn, Ana, give the guy a break. So he spent two hours going to the bathroom. I'm sure he feels bad enough already.

(In regards to my previous aside about leadership--maybe if you just take control and act like you deserve to be in charge, then no one will question you?)

Excellent kick, Ana. Totally hot. Obviously, aside from blondes, I also like feisty, angry, paranoid chicks. Mmm.

Interesting point of observation: The first permanent or semi-permanent thing that Ana builds is a jail. The first thing the other guys build is a shelter. I'm sure there's all sort of psychological observations one could make here.

OH SNAP. He's from Canada. You know who else was from Canada, supposedly? Ethan. That's right (the creepster who kidnapped Claire). I don't think this guy (Nathan?) is a member of the hill-folk-party though. I think it's the peace corps cowboy.

What is Ana eating? Is that a turnip? Interesting.

A-ha! The peace corps guy killed the poor Canadian dude with the bathroom problems. Surely this is a clue!

Another clue? The totally creepy way in which he's staring at Ana when they wake up in the morning. Ew.

Shouldn't have leered at Ana, creepy peace corps guy. She's definitely starting to suspect something.

Oooh. A door in the wall of vegetation. Seriously, this show probably ruined deserted islands for everybody. Now when people get stranded they're going to be expecting all sorts of mysteries and hijinx. Instead they'll just end up with dehydration and dysentery (which is probably why that poor Canadian guy had to spend so much time in the bathroom) (I don't actually know anything about dysentery and its rate of occurrence on deserted islands--maybe cholera is more likely. Whatevs).

Secret room. Oh, hey, a bible. Symbolism! The radio is vaguely more exciting. It won't work, but it'll be fun to watch them try. Bitches, please, if Sayid couldn't do it then you sure as hell won't be able to.

Ana is smiling at you, peace corps guy. Be afraid, be very afraid.

OH THE TENSION IS PALPABLE.

So, you find a bible. And now this creepy dude is offering Ana a bite of the apple-substitute (is it a mango?). Awesome.

Oh yeah, she's on to you, pretty boy.

Okay, here is where subtitles would be awesome. Dammit, Netflix, wtf, some of us suck at hearing stuff. Oh whatever, they're fighting now.

Well. Someone certainly got impaled. Ouch. You go, Ana Lucia.

Aww, Ana. You're like some wounded, feral, fluffy thing. Like a cat. I totally want to pet and love you, but I'm afraid you'll scratch my face off.

Oh hey, we've made a circle. There's Jin. Poor Jin, he really should've learned English. I know, honey, I know. It's a stupid Euro/Americentric world.

Well of course Jin broke loose. You dopes tied him to a freaking twig.

Fast forward montage... Sawyer passes out in a manly fashion, Cindy the flight attendant disappears, and poor Shannon gets shot. Man. I was really looking forward to Shannon's character evolution arc. Sayid is totally gonna cut a bitch (Ana-Lucia).

And... that's all for now. If anybody actually enjoys reading this, you should comment. I always work better with an audience. Though, don't get me wrong, I work fairly well without one too.

"Hey guys, is this normal? Sort of, day turning into night? You know, end of the world type weather? Is this... Guys?"*

2011-01-12T15:52:00.000-08:00

*On a haunted island? You bet your skinny ass, it is, Charlie.

I have this part of my brain that's incredibly anal and likes things to be complete. So... bit by bit I'm going to go back and rewatch/recap the episodes I've already seen, starting with the pilot, obviously. Also, I'm going to backdate this post, because, um, I like things in order.

1.1 Pilot: Part 1

Okay, I'm trying to watch this like I haven't seen it before. Here goes.

This is kind of an amazing beginning. I imagine if I was watching this on T.V I would be totally sucked in right from the start. Dude in a nice suit wakes up laying on his back in the forest and, oh, look, puppy!

Thank god there's some booze in his pocket. I know I'd be grateful.

This is a great shot, when he runs out of the forest, and there's this lovely beach and then boom, post-crash trauma.

Oh man, that guy totally just got sucked into the engine. That was AWESOME. I mean, horrific. That was horrific, is what I meant.

Of course his name is Jack. He's the everyman hero.

Hurley looks ridiculous running. Snort. "Stay with her" "Dude, I'm not going anywhere." Yeah. Duuude.

Oh good, he found pens. That was crucial. I was personally really worried.

That's a mighty bloody wound you got there, Jack. Ouch. Yeah, it hurts when you poke it. Hehe, color preferences for the thread. I would choose a fun color, I think, if I were in this unfortunate position.

Sawyer! I forgot how his hair looked in the beginning. And good god, Claire is really freaking pregnant.

Haha, Kate, "I might throw up on you"--that's an appropriate feeling. I might throw up too if you keep talking about nerves spilling out of people like angel hair pasta, thanks for that visual, Jack.

Alright, it's impossible to pretend that I'm watching for the first time, but it is interesting to see how they are now after knowing a little about them.

Shannon, I have no idea why I grew to like you so much, since you're kind of obnoxious now.

Amazing how much Jin grows and changes. Here I just want to punch him in the balls constantly.

That marshal really just had the worst luck of it with this particular assignment, hasn't he? In terms of how often he gets injured when around Kate.

How do planes just break up? I realize that this show is not, you know, the definition of realism, but still.

The subtitles tell me there is A LOW GROWL. Omg what could this be? Wooo smoke monster! And somebody needs to tell Boone that he's not cut out to be a hero. It's totally going to end badly.

OH IT'S THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT, IN THE FLASHBACK, THE ONE WHO'S WITH ANA'S GROUP ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ISLAND. Until she's taken by hill folk, that is. Anyway. I got excited, hence the caps lock.

Seriously, this part, the flashback when the plane pretty much breaks in half (or in thirds, I guess) in the air just makes feel like I should never fly again. Terrifying.

I wonder how Jack got those strategically placed cuts on his face.

The shot of Kate taking the shoes off a dead body on the beach is kind of great, I'm not sure why. But then there's Locke being all creepy with a smile full of orange or whatever. Ah, character studies.

Ugh, Charlie. I kind of liked him the first time around, but now, having watched up to halfway through season 2 or some such, I'm just annoyed with him.

That dog, watching them as they walk to find the cockpit, obviously knows creepy things about the island. But Vincent ain't telling.

Rain pours, the monster makes scary growly noises in the jungle. Ah, paradise. Seriously, it's like, 5 degrees outside, someone please buy me a ticket to Hawaii.

Ohhh yeah, the pilot. I forgot about this. It's kind of awesome when he gets eaten by the smoke monster or whatever. Um. I mean terrible. I keep saying "awesome" when I mean "terrible"--oops.

I keep wanting to say that I could never survive on this crazy island. But then I think, well, if Hurley's doing alright, then I could probably manage.

But yeah. There goes the pilot. Too bad, really. The actor was on Heroes, I think. I only watched the first season of that train wreck, but yeah. Run from the smoke monster! Run, run, run! Nah, don't go back for Charlie, just leave him, he's not really necessary. Plus he whines a lot. And is addicted to heroin.

Aw, Kate. I don't like seeing her like this, all crying and scared and weak. I like when she's being badass and shooting things or blowing up houses. Okay, this is good now. She's moved on to steely determination, going back for Jack. Rock on, Kate.

Uh-oh. Bits of pilot in the tree. That's just horrifying. Notice how I didn't say "awesome" this time? I'm obviously improving.

So, okay, Interesting set-up in this first episode. Makes you think that the smoke monster or whatever is going to be a much bigger threat than it seems to be (thus far in my watching, anyway). Obviously I was totally hooked by this point. Go, Lost, go!

"Some sand in your shoe, a stone in your chest"

2011-01-09T21:33:00.000-08:00

So, uh, hello, blog. It occurs to me that I have forgotten about you.

Whoops.

Anyway, it was bound to happen. And then, of course, the longer I stayed away, the harder it was to come back. It's kind of like when you meet people and don't catch their name for whatever reason, but, you figure, whatever, it doesn't matter. But then you keep seeing them again and again (because you move in similar social circles) and you realize you STILL don't know their names, but by that point, they know yours, and you're way too embarrassed to ask. That... happens to me quite often, actually. Er. It's not that I'm rude, I'm just awful at paying attention to such things, I guess. If people all wore name tags the first time I met them, I can almost guarantee that I would probably remember their names forever. I suppose this makes me a visual learner? I don't know. In any case.

Whoa, that was a long transgression.

But, yes, blogging. I got very busy at the end of last year (I learned that staying up for 37 hours straight, while productive, is not particularly healthy), and then I spent the summer making terrible life choices (in the romance department) and having an otherwise good time, so I didn't update then either. And then the fall semester happened. Oh boy, did it ever happen. And now I kind of want to jump back into the blogging thing. Although I can't promise that I'll stay faithful, blog, you know me--I like my freedom, my roving eye. You can't tie me down, blog! Though how I wish you would...

But, uh, that's enough creepy personification. This blog doesn't care if I write in it, and I'm fairly certain that no one else cares much either--the internet at large certainly has no cause to--but I care. I'd like to stop quitting these things. Obviously I'm a fairly determined person (oh hai PhD program, didn't see you there), but I tend to need a very specific environment in order to produce work. An environment that involves massive amounts of anxiety and the threat of abject life failure. The thing that really motivates me is thinking about disappointing my mentors (although those I put in that role would probably think well of me anyway, but, you know, I think I'd suck, and that's what counts). So, for my own sake, I'd like to blog more regularly. I think part of what stops me is that I feel I need to have something specific and concise to say, but maybe it's okay to just write sometimes. Or, even better, maybe I can work things out or think them through better by the very act of writing itself. Certainly this is not a new realization for me, but I'd like to try actually living by it, I guess. This is a problem I often have--I know/understand a lot of things on an intellectual level, but I seem to be incapable of actively incorporating them into my life. This then leads to various emotional quandaries. Anyway. Moving on.

If I actually stick to the whole blogging-regularly thing, here is what I'd like to write about in the near future:

Teaching - TAing to be more specific, I guess--I'm not quite sure if what I do can be called teaching, exactly. But it's certainly been an experience.
Lost - Thanks to the magic of Netflix, I'm watching it for the first time ever, yes, EVER, and it is ridiculous and I've been thinking I should blog about it, for funsies. I've finished season 1, so I won't be doing the whole thing from the beginning, sadly (oh yeah, I bet everyone is really broken up about it), but maybe I can just start with where I am now (a couple episodes into season 2)
Academia - Because it is my sad, pathetic, miserable life. Also, it's kind of fun. Except when it's not.
Buffy - I think I might rewatch at some point.
My childhood obsession with Harriet the Spy and how I totally want a Harriet tattoo now
Writing
General life stuff/movies I watch/books I read/stupid things I think

So, yes, maybe I'll do that. Hopefully. I'd like to, anyway. It's nice to write things that are not disgustingly academic sometimes. And I think I just need to have some kind of regular thing to do that's just for me, and not for... I don't know, class or my theoretical future.

This has been a hard year in many ways (not 2011, since it's 2011 is only 9 days old--I mostly think in school years anyway, because I'm lame). A lot of change and death. A lot of growing, I guess. And other distressingly cliched things.

Anyway. Farewell for now, blog, but, dammit, I'll be back! I hope.

"Half the time we're gone, but we don't know where"

2010-04-03T22:06:00.000-07:00

I should, of course, be reading. It seems to me that this phrase should be permanently tattooed on my forehead. We had spring break this past week (the first time I’ve ever gotten to experience spring break during actual spring, by the way) and my motivation has just… evaporated. I have been epically, utterly unproductive. Aside from some light research, all I’ve managed to accomplish thus far is reading about a third of the book for my Wednesday class. It’s interesting, everything is interesting (well, with some exceptions) but my focus is just gone. Maybe it was just having break, it threw me off balance, time off always does. But maybe not, this particular lack of motivation feels different than the usual end of term malaise (there’s about a month left of the semester).

Academically, I am full of worry. Within the next two weeks, I need to start seriously researching and formulating paper ideas. This doesn’t seem like a very big deal, I guess, but I’m a terrible procrastinator and just utterly dreading this next month. There have been some general upheavals in one of my class that are kind of troubling and it now turns out that the final paper will be written for a different professor—one whom I have not even met yet—than the one originally teaching the class. It’s no one’s fault, just strange. That professor-student relationship is more delicate than one would think. After almost a semester, you build this sense of loyalty and when it turns out that someone else will be reading your final work, it’s a bit of an unbalancing feeling.

In more personal terms, it’s been a more difficult month than I would probably acknowledge in non-blog conversation. I don’t deal with negative things well, meaning that I think about them in very intellectual terms (kind of like the tone I’m writing in now, oops) and don’t let myself properly feel and deal. I haven’t really grieved for my friend, for example. It never seemed like the right time, so I threw myself into work. I don’t know, I miss her, but it’s almost like I don’t have a vocabulary for this, or a mode of thinking (if I remember correctly from my undergrad psych. class, a schema?). But on the bright side, the weather is getting much nicer, the sun is out, the skies are blue (unless it’s raining). I’m waiting for a response from a conference I submitted an abstract to, so if I get accepted, that’ll be pretty nice as well.

The awesome thing about spring break is that I was able to watch a whole crapton of T.V shows and movies. Right now I’m watching In Treatment, which is an HBO show (based originally on an Israeli show) about a therapist and five of his patients. Every episode is about 25 minutes long and consists of nothing but talking—definitely my kind of show. It’s interesting, makes me want to have therapy. I’ve never understood why people have problems with it—fifty minutes of shameless narcissism and/or self-involvement? Sign me up. But, yes, the therapist is driving me nuts. I think he’s too screwed up to help most of his patients, and all the clichéd “how does that make you feel?” and “interesting, why do you say that?” questions are kind of obnoxious. Anyway, there’s really no point to me talking about this show, I’m just curious if anyone else is watching it, I think it had about three seasons. Surely there are other people who enjoy ridiculously talky human dramas.

Well, I don’t know if anyone is bothering to read, but I’m sorry about the aimless rambling and the stilted tone. Just wanted to make sure I kept up on the blogging endeavor, even if this entry was a bit lacking in point.

"It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah"

2010-02-28T16:15:00.001-08:00

Death is a funny thing.

And already I'm starting out all wrong because, no, death is not funny. But how else to even begin to understand than by acknowledging that both death and life are random and senseless and in this world more things are broken than will ever, ever be fixed.

It's hard to speak plainly sometimes. A friend died Friday night. A good friend and, more importantly to the world, a good person. She was smart and funny, passionate and dedicated, full of energy and, like the cliches say, full of life. Half the time we disagreed on everything and there were probably only a handful of things that we saw eye-to-eye on, but it was always a joy to talk with her. I can't think of a better person to disagree with--she was one of those rare people who could weigh both sides of an argument before proceeding to tell you all the ways in which you were epically, gloriously wrong. She and I dated briefly (for about three months or so) a couple years ago, which was not the best of ideas. But after that bit of drama, we were actually able to develop a much more close, honest friendship than would have otherwise been possible. I remember her saying just that only a few weeks ago when I told her she was my favorite ex, hah. I'm going to miss her; I never realized just how much I was looking forward to seeing what she was going to do with her life.

I don't really know how to deal with death, especially of someone young, someone I knew and cared about. I have been lucky, I suppose. Grossly lucky and blessed to never have had to deal with such things before. And now, along with the grief, I find myself terrified. Icy roads, a car accident, and in a disgusting instant, it's all over. I talked to her three days ago, I gave (probably terrible) advice on how to talk to some girl she liked. And now it's all moot, everything she planned is moot. It's incomprehensible. And all I can think to do is air my confused grief to the internet. Is it right to do this? I don't know, I just know that I can't afford to travel back to Michigan for the funeral and in many ways I feel like, because of that, I'm unable to say goodbye. I know she's gone, but I don't feel that she is. I probably wouldn't be so calm outwardly if I could feel it beyond my shaking hands.

It's just sad. She was such a wonderful woman, an amazing friend, a brilliant conversationalist. She was religious (another point we completely disagreed on) so she would probably say that Jesus was calling her home or something. I wish I could see it in that way, but I don't know how to think in that way, I never could. It's just unfair. Terrible and unfair and such a goddamn waste. I know these things happen, that life is unfair, but none of that matters, of course, when it's your friend.

I've been trying to think about it academically--the psychology of proper mourning, the uses of public grief, etc--but I am just trying to distract myself.

Goodbye, my friend. I still can't believe you're gone. I hope there is a heaven like you thought and that you are happy there. You were valued and loved, and although it was brief, I am grateful to have had you in my life.

Anxiety & Academia

2010-02-08T13:34:00.000-08:00

Annie Hall: So you wanna go into the movie or what?
Alvy Singer: No, I can't go into a movie that's already started, because I'm anal.
Annie Hall: That's a polite word for what you are.

So I assume that most everyone has seen Annie Hall or some other Woody Allen movie. It's been a few years since I last watched it, but aside from liking the movie in general, I remember identifying very much with Allen's particular brand of Jewish neurotic anxiety. That probably doesn't say very good things about me or my state of mind, but there it is. I spend quite a bit of time feeling anxious about, well, you name it and I've probably obsessed about it at some point. Examples include the state of the environment (oh god, Al Gore said that the ice caps are melting and we're all doomed, oh those poor polar bears), my future, my (lack of) love life, all the ways in which I don't fit into the queer community, being misunderstood (because I'm still 16 years old in my head, apparently), my aging parents/grandmother, money (can hardly even type that without feeling a jolt of anxious fear, wooo), disappointing people (someone, remind me to go get some therapy), being boring, etc. While all of these would make for an amusing blog entry (well, amusing to me, at least), lately, and this should come as no surprise, the largest portion of my anxiety-ridden brain has been busy with the various issues associated with academia.

I'm lucky in the sense that I haven't actually had a full out panic attack in a very long time, but I do spend a significant amount of time feeling like I'm standing on its very edge, looking down into a bottomless abyss or some other terrible metaphor. This is, of course, commonplace. But I do wonder, if this is how most of my cohort/department is feeling half the time, why we've decided to pursue a path of so much inner turmoil?

Well, I can't answer that for anyone else; I can barely even answer it for myself. I'm not questioning my decision to go to grad school (not seriously at least), but in the course of a particularly miserable week, I did momentarily lose track of what made it so appealing, exactly. So, this particular bit of rambling blogging is an attempt to explain my purpose to myself, I suppose. Part of what drove me through the hellish application process and what now serves to keep me (somewhat) afloat is, well, ambition. I don't expect any kind of greatness, but I do want to publish something useful. And that in itself is kind of a funny idea. Everyone who goes into academia wants to do something of the sort and part of the anxiety lies in the fact that to avoid perishing, the publishing we do must be somehow original, unique, new. We all know this going in (at least I presume that we know this), but nevertheless, we're naive enough to think that maybe we could have something new to contribute to our respective fields.

I don't know, maybe I shouldn't be using "we" and dragging everyone else aboard my neurotic train. The thing is though, in my opinion at least, that this naivete is vital to not only success but survival. I don't expect to revolutionize anything, but I still want to say something. And who knows, maybe I'll get one of those shiny, elusive tenure track positions, and maybe I won't. But in order to try, I have to be silly enough, naive enough to hope that it's not only possible but probable. And therein lies the anxiety--about my talents and skills (do I have them?), about my academics (what field should I focus on, what can I research/write about?), about the future of the job market (am I going to be doomed to adjunct-status forever?), and so on and so on, etc. Sometimes, I can't help but wish that I knew how to approach my work and my future from some other, less taxing perspective.

What is the solution? Other than pretentious blog entries, that is. I'm worried (when am I not) that anxiety has become that spark I need to fire me into action. I've joked around that I don't know who I am if I'm not anxiously worrying about something, but it's sort of true. Long vacations drive me crazy, I get to the point that I worry about the fact that I'm not worrying, which obviously means that there must be something that I'm forgetting to worry about. It's, uh, a fun little circle. To tell the truth, now that I recognize that particular cycle, I find it kind of funny. There are times when I enjoy--though that's not the best word really--worrying. Would it be completely ridiculous to say that it gives me a sharper focus?

If I've painted a dismal picture, please don't take it as such. I quite enjoy my life and my work (most of the time), I'm just feeling pensive about the role that anxiety plays in motivating my life and directing my future. My undergraduate mentor told me once, jokingly, that I'm sure to have a "brilliant career fueled by neurosis." I don't really expect this, but here's hoping!

(Oh, and the picture is not relevant to anything, other than I think it's pretty and we're supposed to get more snow tonight. Or, wait, I could say that it symbolizes my state of mind. Yeah. That's it.)

Why I prefer sidekicks

2010-01-25T21:09:00.000-08:00

I, uh, watch a lot of T.V shows (on DVD mostly, or on Hulu, and I maintain that they are good T.V shows, whatever that means). I don’t know how that reflects on my intellect or whatever, but since education has pretty much ruined my ability to just watch anything for its own sake, I have chosen to apply my questionable analytic skills to joyfully geeking out over shows (usually of the sci-fi variety) and attributing to them the hidden depths and nuances that I want to see, even if they may not actually be there. And I’ve come to the realization that those characters often relegated to the background, or to sidekick status, are those that I care about and am most fascinated with.

In many ways, for me at least, the secondary (or tertiary) character is infinitely more appealing than the center-stage lead (obviously there are exceptions, but this blog wouldn’t get very far if I couldn’t generalize). There’s something about the personality of the main character that seems to promote a somewhat solipsistic view of the world. Lately, I’ve been rewatching the seventh season (my favorite) of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (yes, yes, I worship at the altar of Whedon) and it has sort of been reaffirming my lukewarm feelings toward Buffy herself. Sure, she’s the slayer (one girl in all the world with the strength and skills to blah blah blah) and she’s awesome, but despite the growth she achieves over the course of the show, she still pretty much remains the same person she always was. In "Never Leave Me" (7.9), Buffy tells Spike, "You're not alive because of hate or pain. You're alive because I saw you change. Because I saw your penance." Change really is the key word. On BtVS especially, there are so many characters who undergo massive changes, who make very difficult decisions to end one way of life and begin another. Buffy is a hero, no one can argue that, but Buffy is also a fairly constant character. She is always heroic, always bent on doing the right thing, on protecting her friends/family, and averting the latest apocalypse. I don't know why, but her struggles don't appeal to me the way Spike's struggles do, or Anya's, or Faith's, or Willow's, even. So many of the secondary characters, the sidekicks and the Scoobies, have to seriously battle with themselves in order to become good people or to be redeemed for their various acts of evil. Buffy, however, almost always seems to have the advantage of occupying a moral high ground. Many things are hard for her, of course, but at least she always knows her path; Buffy may not always like it or accept it or even understand it, but she knows that she is the slayer and at the end of the day, the world is hers to save. That kind of self-assurance, such definite knowledge, does not particularly interest me.

The greatest thing about identifying with and liking a character is the sheer joy of watching them grow and change. Willow learns to control her magic. Spike goes off to Africa and fights to regain his soul. Anya chooses to stay in Sunnydale and battle The First (I actually think Anya is quite a tragic, mistreated character, but that's a rant for another time). And Faith willingly goes to jail to do penance for her mistakes and eventually becomes someone worthy of trust and leadership. These are characters that face their inner demons, so to speak, that look clearly at the paths before them and choose the difficult option of fighting the evil that inevitably rears its head. There's something exhilarating about that, something promising. And because these characters don't get to be center stage, don't get to speechify (I'm looking at you, Buffy) or be deemed chosen, they are all the more interesting and all the more vibrant and dynamic.

I don't know why this is important to me, the journey of growth, of strength. Maybe because it's something I aspire to in my own introverted little way. I don't want to save the world, but I want to make the right decisions, even if they're hard, especially if they're hard. Buffy didn't get to choose, you know? But everybody else did, and they chose to stay. And that's admirable.

Here endeth the lesson.

Beginnings, incomplete introductions

2010-01-20T00:01:00.000-08:00

Most of us in America live in the sort of culture that places great value on individuality. I'm generalizing of course, but as a result, it's occasionally impossible to avoid the sort of thinking that demands we be heard, that our voices, thoughts and opinions deserve to be aired in some sort of public venue. Unfortunately, I am far from immune to this sort of thinking. As it turns out, I too am dying for a soapbox and my own little patch of internet. Hence, this blog.

In many ways, this is an experiment and a challenge to myself. I want to get more thoroughly into the habit of writing regularly and for an audience (though I don't actually know if one will exist). I've had a livejournal for a number of years, but this blog is part of that elusive growing up process. I don't intend to whine here (much), but I would like to write about my life and, especially, the graduate school experience. I'm not sure how much use I have for serious anonymity, since I don't intend to post anything incriminating. I will, however, avoid naming the institution at which I am currently studying (let's go with Midwestern University). I'm sure it can be easily guessed, but I'd rather not come right out and name the place.

As far as introductions go, I guess this kind of sucks. Over all, this blog is for random musings, thoughts on pop culture, life pondering, and writings on whatever else seems interesting to me. I hope I can keep the promise to myself, to write often, and about entertaining things. Of course, who knows if what interests and entertains me will do the same for whatever audience this could feasibly attract. Basically, I'm a geek who likes literature, science fiction, and overthinking pop culture. Hopefully that'll come across sooner or later.

For various reasons which I could probably blog about later, I've always shied away from calling myself a writer, but ultimately, that is what I am and, in a way, this blog is my attempt to prove it to myself. Time to stop dicking around and get to it, I suppose.