Saturday, December 12, 2009
I'll be home for Christmas...
Monday, December 7, 2009
honestly...
Monday, November 30, 2009
My love for Lady GaGa grows day by day.
Friday, November 20, 2009
13 minutes of paid internet
1. Life would be furrier, and ipso facto, cuddlier.
2. Puppets can say any number of innapropriate / rude things and get away with it...because they are puppets.
3. Everything said is infinitely more important and memorable if sung.
4. I would like a walking bass line to accompany my actions, and a violin to harmonize my thoughts.
5. Even a terrible day couldn't be SO bad if I could still dance...with puppets.
6. Avenue Q already managed to document my life and put it on stage in the form of a musical show starring...puppets.
Aside from that London is great. Overwhelming, as many great things often are, London's the equivalent of an unbelievably delicous 7 course meal that is laid before you on an enormous table and you're told you've got one hour to enjoy. I guess I'll be back, Londonown, ready or not, and I haven't even left yet.
Monday, November 16, 2009
a poem inspired by amsterdam
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
There’s something about being awake really late at night or really early in the morning. Something about the stillness, the darkness, the tranquility. It leaves you contemplative, makes you take stock of your life, consider what the hell you’re doing. I wonder why. There are certain thoughts that you’ll only stumble across when you’re alone, when the rest of the people around you are either asleep or just in another zone of consciousness. There are some things that cross your mind when you’re sitting by yourself, when the moon and stars are complimented by the light of a candle’s flame.
I think about a lot of things. Maybe too many. I think about myself, about the way I fit into the world, the way I fit into the lives of my family and friends. About people I love, about people I've hurt. Maybe the darkness makes this easier, you know? Maybe since the sun isn’t shining, since daylight doesn’t illuminate the scenery, focusing on yourself becomes a bit easier; there are no distractions. Even if you want them.
Self reflection is a difficult task, I think. Its like looking at a funhouse mirror sometimes – you don’t really know what is the real image of yourself. You see the good, you see the bad, but what does it mean? I just think that an accurate visual of yourself is hard to find. I think we all look at ourselves in a skewed fashion so often. We’re tough on ourselves – I’m too fat, I’m to thin, I need a better tan, I’m not charming enough – or we don’t see our situations clearly – she’s being such a bitch these days, I can’t believe he said that – we’ve got a lot of steam to wipe away before we really see ourselves. And even when all the bullshit is out of the way, even then it is hard to see ourselves, because sometimes the clear image isn’t what we expected, what we’d been thinking all along. So maybe when we look and see the truth, it’s different than what we built up and created as reality. Or maybe it’s just a trick of the moonlight.
In other news, I went to Norway over the weekend. Oslo was cold, dark and expensive. The trip was fun, I saw some pretty scenery, and spent time with quality people. But I'll admit, I'm happy to be back in a land with sunlight and cheap beer.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Laundrolamentations
Thursday, November 5, 2009
I kissed an Irish...pony
Wins in Ireland:
- While wandering disoriented after a bus-ride from the airport, the hostel appeared on my left side after 1 block.
- When I asked a man if I could please ask him a question, he responded with, “Oohh why yes, deary, what can I help ya with?” and gave me directions.
- A tour guide told us to watch the low ceilings by exclaiming, “Now I don’t want anyone to be hittin’ their noggin,” but assured the crowd that, “this one,” meaning me, “hasn’t a thing to worry about.”
- My first pub experience in Ireland included a Smithwicks and a live Irish band, in which the violin player was such an adorable old man that I wanted to take him home.
- Perfect Guinness at the Gravity Bar in the Guinness Storehouse, complete with a shamrock in the foam – and the glass made its way home with me.
- The Guinness Storehouse provided us with shelter from a raging rainstorm.
- The greatest day of my life*
- My first taste of Shepherd’s pie...paradise with potatoes on top.
- Watching a friend get a tattoo she’s wanted for years.
- Free shots of Jameson during a pub-crawl on Halloween.
Losses in Ireland:
- South American man whom I had to elbow in the ribs to get away from me.
- The terrible pizza that preceded the event of loss 1.
- Bad fish and chips**
So I the luck of the Irish rubbed off of me while in Dublin. Isn’t that clever? But really; by far my favorite city so far, Dublin has a special place in my heart.
* I bet you’re wondering about the best day of my life. Alright, well I’ll tell you. Now when I say that this was the best day of my life, I don’t think that I’m lying. I mean, people say that all the time, don’t they? “This is the GREATEST sandwich of all time.” “That was the most epic night EVER.” And it isn’t always true. Sometimes it’s just a well-constructed tuna sub or dollar beers. However, I assure you in my case I’m being as honest as possible, because by the “best day of my life” I mean that the feeling I experienced during the day was such a pure happiness that I have to claim the day as such.
On the recommendation of a former English teacher, some friends and I decided to take a train to the seaside city of Bray and hike up Bray Head. Granted, when I awoke at 7 am to the sound of pouring rain and was nursing a slight headache from the pub crawl, there were moments when my thoughts were...uh-oh...but my friends, upon arriving at Bray, the clouds did literally part, and the sun came out to create the most beautiful rainbow I have ever seen. It was a full rainbow, stretching from the town to the sea, with every Roy G. Biv stripe visible, and I’m in Ireland at this point right, so I am still convinced there was a pot of gold somewhere.
We took a walk around the cliff walk first, and the higher we walked, the closer we seemed to get to the rainbow. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to stand in a rainbow. It’s simply the air, tricks of light, photons and the like, but there is a certain magical quality to the arches, and I was certainly fascinated. Looking out over the cliffs, the colors in the sky only added to the surreality that is hovering over my life these days.
Have you ever ended up with a landscape that literally takes your breath away? I’ll admit, I was out of breath from ascending up rocks, but the view hit me square in the chest. On the top of Bray Head, I felt the way little kids’ smiles look. Genuine, content and amazed. We wandered over to a herd of ponies and one let me touch its soft nose, and I decided to admit to being the luckiest girl in the world.
The trek back down was interesting, but no matter how wet and cold my feet were, or how many times thorns scratched my hands and arms...well, I wish I could’ve bottled up the feeling I had and kept it. Hell, I could market it.
Heaven must be filled with Irish fresh air.
**Easily avoided. Do not purchase fish and chips at 3 am from a bagel shop.
Monday, October 26, 2009
if the soul were contained in a material object, it would need a big box.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
visual pleasantries.
Monday, October 12, 2009
ethical adventures and wooden shoes
"We are what we are in a process of becoming ourselves," or so says Dr. William Desmond, a well acclaimed philosophy scholar who also happens to be the professor of my Introduction to Ethics course. Now granted, my academic experience here in Leuven has been less than strenuous in terms of hours clocked in; however, i will go with the theory of quality over quantity for this situation, and say I'm learning a thing or two.
Why did I choose to become a philosophy major? Well, I took intro to philosophy back in Maryland, enjoyed the class and wanted to have an affair with the professor. I mean, there was a bit more thought put into my declaration, but I'll boil it down to that. So luck being upon my shoulders, I wind up choosing a study abroad program which tosses me into a university well known for an exceptional philosophy faculty. So I sit there and I stare at this man who has written books and explored theories that go so far over my head that they don't even resemble constellations; the understanding of them is something I just have to trust exists, and I think, well perhaps life is working in my favor.
If I were to write out a list of things that make me happy, being in a classroom with an engaging professor lecturing on a topic I find interesting ranks up there with tiny furry animals and a nice glass of red wine. I've come to realize that if I could be a student for the rest of my life, if learning could be my chosen profession, I'd choose that path in a heartbeat. I think that's why I love philosophy - it is the farthest thing from finite. A study of questions about life that lead to 'answers' which are really just deeper versions of the original question, with about 19 little tangents, exceptions and connections. Philosophy to me is like an endless web. I'm here at one corner, I'll go straight, have a fanned out spread of choices of ways to go next, and I'll continue along, probably end up somewhere close to where I started, but it will look different. I find that the further I explore philosophy, the further I explore myself.
Isn't that such a big part of every moment? Self exploration? It certainly is for me. I mean, to be honest, I've never known who the hell I am. What am I? Am I what I do - a student, a friend, a writer? Am I a summation of my actions - playing the guitar, throwing rocks at cars when I was 6, buying a birthday present? Am I what I love - good music, laughter, coffee, pistachio ice cream? Am I my emotions - contemplative, happy, stressed, compassionate? The easy answer is, well duh, a combination of it all. A veritable heap of qualities and experiences, thoughts and sensations, physical attributes and vocal patterns. But today I think, if what I am isn’t necessarily these quantifiable or named...things...if what I am is my own motion, by own expanding understanding of my place in the world, well then I’m more ‘myself’ now than ever.
I always thought it would be cliché to go abroad and have it change your life. I don’t mean that I didn’t find picking up and moving to another country wasn’t a life change, but I mean I was skeptical of that experience changing your outlook in a drastic matter. I pictured someone trotting off to Europe and coming back with a more stylish wardrobe, lofty ideals and a nicotine addiction.
Then I went abroad, and within two months, I’m changing. Add this to the list of things I’ve been wrong about along with the spelling of ‘necessary’ and the pronunciation of the name ‘Hermione’ from Harry Potter. It’s not so much a radical change in mindset or opinion, but rather a shift to self-discovery rather than self-invention. This is not a transformation for me – a transformation would imply a firmly established state of self that becomes malleable and is then sculpted into something else. No, I haven’t been transformed. I think I’ve just become more aware of my own existence.
The other day I ventured into Holland, specifically the town of Maastricht, with a few friends for the day. Now in this region, weed is legal – well, sort of, what I mean is I smoked in a coffee shop without fear of arrest, and this is common. So if you’re skeptical that these thoughts of mine are a result of a plant, I can see where you’re coming from. But like, here’s what I mean man, you just gotta flow. But seriously. I’m finding that the more I focus internally, the clearer I see things externally, and I’ve been surprised to find how much there is inside. For the first time, I’m becoming myself by exploring who I am. And if this self-study is life, then there’s a reason to be content – I’ll be a student for the rest of my life.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Revisiting Munich
Monday, September 28, 2009
ATTENTION!
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Thank God I don't really like peanut butter, or else I may have been homesick by now...
Steps to appear out of place in Brussels, Belgium:
- Walk out of the train station with confidence, only to walk back in to make sure you’re at the correct stop.
- Have headphones in whilst performing the aforementioned task.
- Repeat these actions twice.
- Look for a city map at a kiosk with a sign that clearly reads, “NO CITY MAPS” in English.
- Trip on the sidewalk.
- Pet the dogs of strangers.
- Walk past a Jewish Temple and give the guards outside with AK47’s quizzical looks.
- Be an American.
- Look for crossroad signs with confusion.
- Have your photo taken with your arms outstretched at angles mimicking a clock, while your friend taking a photo directs you so your posture matches the actual time.
Number 10 isn’t my personal experience, simply an FYI. I spotted that gem perched up on a railing on the Mont d’Arts. I floated into Brussels late in the afternoon because I bought a ticket with plans to come for the open air art market, open from 6 am to 1 pm, but refused to get out of my nest until 12:30 pm. Moving along.
I went on a trip to Luxembourg yesterday. The richest city in the world per capita, Luxembourg City is a beautiful woman dressed in Dolce and Gabbana, sporting Jimmy Choo heels, carrying her Prada bag, wearing Chanel perfume and Tiffany’s jewelry and who is a graduate of Harvard Law. I was exceedingly impressed with the views in the city. I walked along the Chemin de la Corniche, also known as the “most beautiful balcony in Europe,” and took a photograph with every head movement. The view was down on the Abbey, renovated in the 17th century, the river that surrounds it, lush greenery, and the commanding rock structure of the Bock Casements. Beauty meets intelligence, the city is incredibly rich in both pretty scenery and history.
I had hoped to visit the Am Tunnel, part of an old bank building, now a contemporary art museum, but unfortunately it is closed only one day a week, and that happens to be Saturday, when I arrived expectantly to its closed revolving door. After a few moments of sulking, I was convinced by friends to take a walk to a gallery called “Casino,” which featured an exhibition with the theme of Science and Art. I will just preface this with “best spent 3 euro ever,” and “don’t bring small children.”
There were a number of exhibits, including a fur coat made from road kill specimens, glass boxes showcasing hymens (yes, you read correctly,) a wall-sized projection screen showing close up footage of black heads popping and other skin eruptions, a video of surgery to implant an ear into a man’s arm, biological art – growing human and animal cells in the shape of 3 tiny shirts, worry dolls hanging in little test tubes – made of real cells, naturally, re-creations of truth sirum tests, video of a man who secrets blue, and walls coated with a synthetic recreation of human sweat aiming to re-create the “scent of fear.” These are just a few off the top of my head. I was intruiged, to say the least.
The exhibit which struck me the most was not the shocking feats of odd technology and creative energy, but rather one room that resembled a large scale video game. The room is dark, save for the enormous screen in the front. As you walk in, you put on 3-D glasses which create before you a landscape of war. The sound of machine guns pervade as you look at full figures of soldiers, children, buildings, tanks and bombs, all of which are constantly changing and create the she sensation that you are really there, gliding through a battle zone. Three cameras hang from the ceiling, and ask you look through the lens and press the button, the images change form, layers peel off, the frame fades, and eventually your view turns to black, the war completely hidden by the lens.
I didn’t get it at first. But after reading the artists intentions, and standing there for a while, the meaning sunk in. The purpose of the piece is to show the power the media has to dull the senses. As you look through the lens, at first the scene is more focused, but eventually it goes away. As you watch, the once 3-D lifelike forms become 2-D and then gone altogether. Think of the war in Iraq – the televised war – did we not become desensitized? Unless a loved one is directly involved, isn’t it far too easy to go about your daily life without thinking of what goes on every single day across the world? It seems paradoxical that perpetually seeing images of pain and war would make it easier for the scenes to leave your mind, but I think the artist has a point. The more it is put on display as a news story, as simply another video, picture or story on the evening news, the less humanized it becomes, the easier it becomes to separate oneself from the actions of the world. After all, its just happening over there, and the pictures of the car bomb, that’s just one of many. We’ve seen it all before. And there’s the chasm. The reality of day to day life becomes separate from the reality of war.
Isn’t that why it still goes on? The terror of war, of constant fighting, is partitioned off from humanity. But it isn’t meant to be that way. It isn’t some foreign being or entity that starts and continues wars, it’s people. It’s us, all of us, and if we forget that it’s humanity at war, or humanity that’s struggling or starving or being oppressed then hell, what’s the point in trying to stop it? But if we remember it’s our brothers and sisters, if we humanize our problems, then perhaps we’ll wake up and realize it’s time to save our selves.
Friday, September 25, 2009
...
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
class dismissed
Sunday, September 20, 2009
iced cappuccino is an american idea.
Europe is a holy land for people watchers, so as I sit outside at Café Onan in Leuven I feel as though I’ve reached my Mecca. There are people all around me, sipping espresso or tea, playing with their babies, walking home from the market, riding bikes to who knows where. As I sit here, my ears filled with my handpicked soundtrack for the afternoon, I imagine their conversations. It’s just as well that I’m listening to Passion Pit and not their own flowing chatter, as I wouldn’t be able to understand the Dutch anyway. But I watch friends laugh, and think that they’re probably recounting old jokes and playing off of each other just as I do with my friends. I look at the elderly couple next to me, quietly holding hands, and wonder what they’re remembering.
Something I notice quite blatantly is that no one looks like me. What I mean by that is, no one has a laptop out, and no one has headphones in. Back at home, my favorite café is evenly populated with humans and MacBooks, everyone plugged in via headphone to their own virtual hub, and stranger to stranger interaction is prevalent only when one tunes into someone else’s music collection through the free wireless internet. But here, imagine this: people talk and pay attention. I notice the same thing when I run at the track. Everyone else seems content to run or play soccer without a personal world of sound.
Now believe me. No matter how many scarves I wear to try and fit in here (though as one Belgian friend told me, “many have tried, all have failed,” in terms of Americans trying to look European), I won’t give up my headphones nor iPod. Music at all times matching my mood is like my heartbeat. But it leads me to wonder.
I have a Belgian cell phone, but I rarely use it. I find out the location of friends so we can meet up. That’s it. I’m also on the computer less. I’m less “connected” than I’ve ever been. Yet when I sit and have a cup of coffee or a beer with someone, I’m not breaking up their speech with the sound of the keys on my cell phone as I respond to a message. My phone isn’t ringing to interrupt an important discussion. Within my disconnection, I’ve become more connected with the moment than I ever have before.
I’m happier here. And while, in the words of a friend, we’re still in the “honeymoon phase” of the trip, I can confidently say that I’m enjoying each moment because I’m actually living it. I’m not planning or worrying, just trying to do what I feel, and it makes a difference.
I’m perfectly content in the corner of this café. I’ll probably spend a few hours here. But my laptop does indeed pick up a non-password protected wireless internet source, and I did just change my Facebook default photo.