“Last night…
… I had a dream about [Mexican folktales??]…”
Okay, so it’s not a full quote, only partial, but singing in my blog posts has never lost its appeal with me.
My dream last night was more like watching a movie; it was like watching a very interesting movie, done in three (?) parts.
It was basically like watching artsy-fartsy reinterpretations of Mexican folktales, the ones told to good little Catholic children to keep them too afraid of monsters under their beds to disobey. They included devil men, given away by their red-hued skin, pointy chins and dark, black, wiry hair. Also there were twelve women, pure and good, trying to lead the way to godliness and safety, as well as little children drawn by David B who spoke with heavy Spanish accents, trying to find their way to safety.
I’m blaming it on the fact that I just finished La Perdida, by Jessica Abel. The novel makes me want to re-invent my life, and it doesn’t help that I have a Cuban father who I could pretend I was estranged with, in order to search for my “roots”. That, combined with the fact that I spent the night in my father’s house last night, which is painted and decorated exactly how a Latin American man would want to decorate his house if he lived in the grayest city in all America. We had an entire conversation centered around the color orange [[Bright orange: see his armchair, see a full set of dishes, see his hallway walls, see a blanket, see a vase on his fireplace]], and then bickered good-naturedly about whether he liked bright orange or bright green more. [[Bright green: see downstairs walls, see other full set of dishes]]
My dreams made my mouth burn from spicy food, my eyes water from smoky, polluted air and my hair turn long, black and curly.
Study Playlists
I’m sure this is not a unique thing, but I don’t just require music to study–I require different playlists for different subjects. And, because it’s me, there’s a thought-out, logical explanation for each playlist.
French: When studying French, I need background noise to drown out my own thoughts. Why, you ask? No, not because I’m so emo I need to escape my sad sad robot thoughts. It’s because I think in English, and I’m in that “two different channels” mode with languages right now, where I can’t think in French if I hear English. So my music tends to be lyric-less, so I don’t catch English words and accidentally switch back to an English train of thought. That means I lean towards lyric-less Apocalyptica songs or iTune’s classical radio station. I can also listen to French music, and in high school I used to very consistenly study my French while listening to Indochine. Since I lost that album, though, I mostly will listen to Camille.
Journalism: This requires splitting, because (this quarter, at least) I’ll either be reading for my history of journalism class, or I’ll be writing for my newswriting class.
Journalism/reading: This is true of almost anything I read, but I dislike background noise. When reading for pleasure (and this textbook, thankfully, definitely falls under that category), I like being in a coffee shop-esque place, where there is a murmur of people talking around me. White noise is really productive for pleasure reading, which is why I’m more apt to study for my media history class in Adagio as opposed to the library. If I’m in the library and I need to catch up on reading for that class, I’ll usually just suck it up and read in silence, or (if fuckers start talking) I’ll turn on one of my free iTunes lectures on Middle Eastern politics and turn it way low (oh I’m almost embarrassed at how nerdy that made me sound).
Journalism/newswriting: For this, all my other rules go out the window. I don’t require soft white noise or something that won’t distract me. When I’m writing an article for The Front, I like music as loud and as screamy as possible. I’ll usually work on my stories in my apartment just for this reason, and blast Breaking Benjamin at a volume that makes me concerned for my speakers. Why this odd switch in music volume? Newswriting makes me nervous. It’d take way too long (an entirely different post) to explain why, so we’ll just leave it at making me very nervous and stressed. And when I’m nervous and stressed, I overthink things. If I blast music so loud my brain can’t think, then I tend to transcribe instead, which actually makes for better newswriting. My connectors between quotes are vastly simplified and quotes take up the bulk. Any explanations in my articles loose excess, unnecessary words. If I need to go back through the barebones of a story and spice it up, I’ll write in the computer labs where there is ample white noise, or switch my music to a tolerable volume level and change it to And You Will Know Us…
Biology: Right now, I’m in the library and I’m listening to Tegan and Sara on my headphones. I have two albums playing on random, and it’s perfect for transcribing the end of the chapter notes, which is one of the best ways I ingest knowledge from this bulky textbook, filled with superfluous descriptions. If I do read the chapter, I’ll hunker down in the reading room of the library, where it’s so quiet you can hear a pin drop. I’m not super interested in my Biology textbook, so unlike pleasure reading, where I require white noise, I need no noises that could distract me.
Ta-da!
I’ve given him a name
While I’m not one of those freaky-freaks who refuses to eat vegatables and fruits because they believe apples scream in pain whenever you munch into their crunchy goodness (seriously–I’m curious. What do they eat??), I didn’t eat this carrot.
I know for a fact that this carrot has a personality, a soul, and emotions. He has a name, too, but I don’t feel like telling all of you. You’d laugh…
He has a soul...
Doesn’t he look a little bit like Domo? I think so.
I don’t know what it is, though, but I certainly have a knack for finding such odd little creatures. Remember?
Bellingham mornings
I think one of my favorite things about Bellingham (there are a few, so bare with me) are the foggy mornings. I love mornings (like this one) where the air is so thick with fog I can’t see the mountains outside my window. I love watching it slowly roll away, until just patches of it remain in the pockets of the mountains. It looks like the setting for a Lord of the Rings-esque movie, so magical and mysterious. I like to think of all the creatures that must exist when there’s fog–creatures that couldn’t possibly exist unless the air is that thick, and when it clears, they vanish back into the unknown. I think they look like some cross between sheepdogs and sea anemones.
One of my favorite authors
I’ll admit–some of my friends I’ve made purely for their recommendations in books. I don’t think I have any friends like that currently (if they started out that way and are still in my life, chances are the friendship has evolved).
But it does happen. For a while, I was friends with this one guy who was a complete jerk. I hated almost everything about him, but oddly enough, when we hung out, we always had a great time. He also recommended the best books. I read a lot while we were friends, and some of his authors are still my favorites. For instance, he introduced me to Blankets, by Craig Thompson, which is one of my absolute favorite graphic novels.
Towards the end, though, it went sour and I, being the obstinate mule I can be, have long refused to read his last recommendation.
He told me I would love Michael Ondaatje’s The English Patient, and for a long time I went to great stretches to avoid that book. I finally cracked, although only slightly. I read instead his Divisadero, which is now one of my favorite books. Currently I’m reading Anil’s Ghost, and then next on my list is In The Skin of the Lion (that’s right–I’m still obstinately a
voiding The English Patient).
I could tell you about the plots to his novels, but it really wouldn’t matter. His style is non-linear, and you can tell when you read his works that he doesn’t care about the plot as much as he cares about the characters he’s creating. The plots are interesting well-developed, but are also completely irrelevant to appreciating his writing.
I’m reading, as I said, Anil’s Ghost right now and I’m so sucked into the novel. I don’t care about the plot, and I couldn’t care less about the slight mystery he’s creating, but I care about the main character, Anil. I care about her and I’m intrigued by her and I want to know more about her. The way Ondaatje writes is so captivating, as cliche as that may sound.
The University Professor Feared by Puritan, Conservative Parents
I’ve wanted to take History of Mass Media since fall quarter my freshman year. I’ve been looking forward to attaining “Junior” status purely to take this class. It technically applies to one of my majors, but I’m really just taking it for fun.
The professor makes this class amazingly fun to listen to. He’s a bleeding-heart liberal, and I mean that in the best possible way possible. He didn’t print out our syllabuses, just told us where we could download them and then encouraged us to read them on our computers and not print. He wants to save paper.
His lectures reflect political viewpoints, as well. I’ll give him credit–he’s honest and up front about his blatant biases, instead of hiding them through layers of self-proclaimed truth. But he’s liberal. He is the liberal university professor feared by Puritan, conservative parents.
I’m usually against extremism. Strike that, always. I’m extremely against extremes–I can get on quite a soap-box about it, but just take my word. I disapprove heartily.
Listening to my professor’s lectures, though, and the comments he interjects is just fun. I was surprised to think so, and yet, it is.
For instance–we discussed media coverage of women during WW2 in America, and he used that example to talk about the dangers of propaganda. He talked about the danger of handing over our civil liberties, the danger of allowing a government to take a paternalist stance–hell, to let the media take a paternalistic viewpoint on what people need to know.
Maybe I’m just so far on the left, but that just makes sense to me. His lectures–his liberal, left-wing spoutings, just make sense. It’s common sense to guard your civil liberties–it’s common sense to not listen blindly to the media and to the government.
I strongly believe in the quote “People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people”
That’s not to say I support terrorism, or violent protests, or anything extreme or violent. It’s that I believe governments should respect their citizens, and have a healthy, respectful fear for them. It is people that make a government. Especially, but not exclusively, in democracies–we are the ones who decide our president, who approve initiatives, who elect our voices in almost all branches of government. We have a lot of power over our government, and as a result, our government should have a healthy, respectful fear for that power.
It would work a lot better if more people believed in that power, and utilized it. So many people I know, even fellow students, don’t have faith in their own power–they don’t realize the control they have in their lives, extending as far as politics. They see politics as a dirty, messy frustrating game only because the only time they tune in is during campaign season (which, of course, is when politicians look the worse).
This past election helped build a trust back with a lot of disillusioned voters, I think. Even if your candidate didn’t win, it was still an amazing election to take part of–to take part of and see come to fruition a fair election, where one winner was decided by the people. No confusion, no scandals (I’m talking right now only of the president’s election) to further disillusion people in “the system”.
It was refreshing to take part of this election. It will be exciting to see the next four years.
To the gentleman in the waiting room
I disagree with you. I have a feeling, from a couple of remarks you made, that I would disagree with you on many things, were we to sit and talk. But for now, I know for certain that I disagree with you strongly on one thing.
I don’t believe Caimlo Mejia is a coward for refusing to return to war. I don’t think that makes him a coward. I think, if anything, Mejia is incredibly brave to have the courage to stand up for what he believes is the right thing to do.
That’s not to say I agree with him, or that I disagree with him. I’m not going into my own opinions on his actions in this post, simply that I think he’s brave.
It takes a lot of guts to stand up for what you believe is right. It takes courage to protest things you feel are wrong, especially when the world boos you off the stage.
I think people should feel safe enough to protest. I think citizens in this country should never fear standing up for what they believe is right, and I think calling Mejia a coward for refusing to go back to war is missing the whole point.
I would have told you this, but the nurse called you back too quickly. Oh well.
[counter to the fussy post]
Because I like balance in the things I can control, here’s something that makes me happy. Consistently and without fail.
[fussy post alert]
I’ve never hated a website more than I’ve hated this one
www.whereismysophia.com
It needs to disappear. I’ve been really good and not abusing my blog, but fucking christ. I hate that website. I hate the litter of that old “us” that lingers in the crevices of my life–the bottom of my tin, in the form of a cd, a side-alley in the internets, with an old remembered name for a search engine. I was GOING to type “mail”, but I only got as far as “M-A-I” before seeing that fucking website. Fuck you, firefox.
I’m venting here so I don’t vent elsewhere. It’s what the internets are for, right?
[this post aside, I'm actually patting myself on the back. for all outward appearances, I've been doing really fucking good]
Frustrations of a Bibliophile
I am a bibliophile. I love books–I love reading them, I love collecting them. I love the way they look, the way they feel. I love walking through bookstores–new and used both, and running my fingers along their spines as I wander down the aisles
So quite understandably, I love libraries. I come to the university’s library to study. I bury myself in a corner amongst the stacks and I can stay there (here, actually) for hours. I’ll study, I’ll read and when I get restless, I’ll wander among the rows of books until I regain some clarity.
There are far too many reasons why I love the library to go into a detailed description here, so I’ll just settle on one–one of the more important reasons.
The quiet.
I love how quiet it is here. I’ll show up when the library first opens and quietly revel in the pure, unfiltered silence. I can study French in here simply because of the quiet–I can’t study a foreign language with English in the background. I don’t know if any other linguists can, and I would be very impressed to find out if it’s possible. It’s not, for me.
So when mother-fucking, disrespectful morons intrude on my silence, I think I become understandably angry. I’m not complaining about the noise of typing, or heavy (sleepy) breathing, or pages turning. No, those all combine artfully for a wonderful library soundtrack.
I’m talking about the fuckers who come in to my sacred study space, where the “Silence Please” posters hang in abundance, and shout to their friends “HEY GIRL, WHAT’S UP? NO I KNOW, I HAVE TO STUDY TOO! OKAY BUT LET’S TALK FOR A WHILE BECAUSE OH MY GOD YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE HOW TIRED I AM MY WEEKEND WAS INSANEAND NOW I’LLPROCEED TO TELLYOUALLABOUT ITAND DAMNEDTO THEPOOR SUCKERSWHOACTUALLY CAMEHERETO STUDY YOUMEANNOTEVERYONE ISINTERESTED IN WHATIDIDTHISPASTWEEKENDANDHOW DRUNK IGOTANDWHOISLEEPWITHOHMYGOSHHAVE YOUSEENBOBBYHE’S LIKESO CUTEWESHOUDLHANG OUTSOON”
Those are the people at whom this complaint is aimed. I hate you. I wish I could unleash all my rage on you, just to make you understand how truly self-absorbed you are, but to do so would be to engage in various illicit and illegal acts. So instead, I blog to my heart’s content and use foul language in the hopes that I can, with an incredible force of will power, kill you with my thoughts.
…
……
Are you dead yet?
