Mass Hysteria

Michelle Obama wears a dress when visiting the UN that she has worn before EVERYBODY PANIC

SDL

i am a sigma delta lady

and there is nothing you can fucking do about it

PSA

Do not read Stuff White People Like on your iPhone during class


Note: if you are talking to a white person who is really into Bob Marley, has dreadlocks, and professes to be a Rastafarian, you should end the conversation immediately. These people are of no value unless you need directions to a WTO protest or have questions about how bad a human can smell.

You could snort really loudly and have everyone look at you.

FML

Today I told J. L. that I had a really unlegit job with an important sounding title.

She said that "sounded important."

She is the only person in the entire world I have ever actually wanted to impress but that is so not impressive.

I wanted to smack her for not knowing the difference.

FML.

if

it were not so easy, if the milkshake weren't so liquid, so dairy-based, so easy

if

they locked the bathroom in the basement

if

she did not mean to be a bitch

but mostly

if

i were not me

ifiwerethekindofpersonwhowasnormalinsteadofapersonwithablog

you would want my favorite song

now i feel like it might have been different and it was my fault that it was not

if I were there when we first took the pill / then maybe, then maybe, then maybe, then maybe / miracles will happen as we speak / but we're never going to survive


/iwillneverunderstandyou

Epic fail

yadda yadda yadda sincreatismo yadda...wait what the fuck is sincreatismo?

*Spanish to English dictionary*

sincreatismo masc. n.
syncretism

uhhhhhhhh

*English to English dictionary*

fail

Thought processs

*Headphones fall out of bag*

*Headphones get replaced in jacket pocket*

Self, move those headphones into your bag. You will wear a different jacket tomorrow and you will be sad.

*Hours pass*

*It starts to rain*

*Different jacket is worn*

*Boredom/need for 80s music while reading*

Where the fuck are my headphones?

*Think*

GOD DAMN IT.

Arrrrrrrr

if you only eat chocolate and french fries, you'll develop scurvy, right?

Oh I know. I'll get sushi. That's healthy.

Ingredients: spicy mayonnaise, deep fried batter, avocado

and some fish

In religion, folklore, and mythology a demon (or daemon, dæmon, daimon from Greek: δαίμων daimōn) is a supernatural being that is generally described as a malevolent spirit. In Christian terms demons are generally understood as fallen angels, formerly of God.

sometimes they are blonde.

Now that I've translated it I have to write about it FML

Esto es la verdad. Y espero que estuviera en Barca ahora, con un copa de vino, en vez de en una aula en la biblioteca con una taza de café horible.

Sería mejor si pudiera escribirlo en italiano.

The Enigmas

You have asked me what the crustaceans spin in their golden claws
and I reply: the sea knows.
You ask me, what does the sea squirt wait for in its transparent globe ? For what is it waiting?
I tell you that like you, it waits for the time.
You ask me, who does the giant kelp reach to embrace?
Inquire, ask me this again, at a certain hour, in a certain sea that I know.
You will undoubtedly ask me about the cursed ivory of the narwhale, and I will have to describe the manner in which the sea unicorn dies, harpooned and suffering.
Perhaps you will ask me about the untroubled feathers that tremble in the pure origins of the austral tide pools?
And about the jellyfish's crystalline construction--you are no doubt toying with this other problem, trying to unriddle it now?
Do you want to know the electric matter of the seafloor's spines?
The armed stalactite that cracks as it walks?
The lure of the anglerfish, its siren song drawn out in the depths like a thread in the water?

I want to tell you that the sea knows this
that life in its jewel boxes is wide as the sand
impossible to count and pure
and amid the fruits of bloodshed, time has polished smooth the pearl
filled the jellyfish with light
and untangled its bouquet of coral strands,
from a cornucopia of infinite iridescence.

I am nothing but the empty net that advances
human eyes, lifeless in this darkness
fingers accustomed to the triangle, the dimensions
of the orange's shy hemisphere

I lived like you, probing
the interminable star
and in my net during the night, I awoke, naked
the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind

~Pablo Neruda

Traducido por una estudiante loca durante el infierno oscuro de sus examenes.

PSA

facebook.com = socially acceptable stalking

facenook.com = HARD CORE PORN WITH SOUND

hi periodicals room! yes, that was my computer. i'll just quietly die now, thanks.

i want to explain how she is crazy and because of that she is beautiful

I am laughing in the stacks

Because of this:

You have to imagine them saying "as all hell" in a total hick accent.

she is your experimental game

you still do not remember your dreams, except for her.

she is taller than you but she is pale, fragile. almost vulnerable.

it is possible that she is the angel who has smiled at you. but it is more likely that it is indeed your fault that

hellfire

is burning in your skin

{
que has pecado
en tus pensamientos
pero no en palabra y hecho
}

that the devil's servants are indeed the fallen nephil angels

and that in a perfect world you would not care

but in this one you cannot do or say anything lest you be wrong about her

They cut out the part where I OD'd on 5 hour energy. Editors.

AA

I sort of wish I was still in sixth grade, when Sophie decided she was dating Sean and they "went out" by talking on AIM and the rest of us were sort of jealous but also unanimously agreed that boys were gross.

Because it's a little more than ridiculous to be watching two of your friends playing pong and then realizing that yes, one day, they could get married and it would really not be a bad thing.

I do really wish that I could capture the way her eyes and her voice change when her phone rings and answers and it's him. I would say something about "lighting up" but that's stupid and overused and cheesy and it isn't that simple at all.

/It must be something real if cynical bitches like me take notice.

NERDAGE

Happy Square Root Day!

People irking me at the moment:

Rush Limbaugh
My current best friend

Yup.

wierd

you're

clickly

Oh yes, I keep track.

You stupid fucking whores. So the new president is a minority. Great. He's also pretty fucking kickass, but no. You, not I, care about his race. And now that this is on the table YOU ARE NOT EVEN THE SAME RACE AS HIM. So he's a "fellow minority." Oh that's a GREAAAAAAT line of thought. "Us" versus "them." That's worked so well in the past.

I realize that I cannot understand, nay, that I am not allowed to understand, but this is how you look to me.

I hate that you have sweatshirts. Can't we just all be people?

but then what would you bitch about

My Spanish professor is the version of Paquita that has a Ph.D. from Columbia.

Yes, apparently that's possible.

Overheard

"Stressing out is so unhealthy.. people need to get over being control freaks. NATURE CANNOT BE TAMED."

/cosign

fuck mcnutt

is there a female here WITHOUT food issues?

no?

just checking.

Announcement

"INTELLECTUAL REWARDS

The paper can be an extremely rewarding intellectual experience. You learn how to come up to speed on a complex subject quickly, conduct research in a real-time intelligence-style operational environment, adjudicate conflicting claims and theories, assess patterns of evidence, and render informed policy judgments and recommendations. All of these skills are very useful, and they are portable to other areas."

If you include this in the description of the horrific paper you have just assigned, it becomes legal for your students to kill you.

This is logic on my planet

Oho. So I found out that you PREDICTED I would quit. Ohhhhh really. Guess what? YOU'RE STUCK WITH ME. FOREVER.

You are probably smarter and saner, but I am more stubborn.

It doesn't seem to have gotten away from you. Yet.

You are everything I am not. You paint your nails. You own pearls. You wear argyle non-ironically.

You study.

But we both know (pepperidgefarmwhitesandwichbreadequals65times2equals130)plus(3ozbakedturkey
equals125)equals255

Please. Please be careful.

Lord knows I am not.

/thereisnoneedforcalculationwhenyoucanresetitbacktozero

I am never getting hired by anyone

Still full of inside jokes, but hopefully sounds less like a 13-year-old girl's Xanga than this thing does.

How the fuck do I get into these situations?

I really need to quit my stupid, unpaid job.

But I need to talk to someone about it first.

My friend, the person I would go to to talk to about something like this, is my boss at the job.

fmylife

Dear the Women and Gender Studies Department,

I wrote that as a joke.

Please don't give me an A.

It hurts me.

Thanks for the GPA boost,
Me

Google StreetView

just freaked me THE FUCK out.

Quería un bocadillo de tortilla de calabacín para llevar por favor.

*snort*

Imagine you own a theme park. It's a very successful (albeit a tad tacky) park. It happens to contain Superman: Ride of Steel, which is the greatest roller coaster IN THE HISTORY OF TIME, and has won the Golden Ticket Awards (the Oscars of the Amusement Park Industry) for the last three years running.

What do you do with your lovely award-winning much-adored coaster?

Apparently YOU FUCK WITH IT.

Superman is NOT PURPLE. New trains CHANGE THE RIDE. And if you enclose the lift hill and add *fire oooh shiny stuff* I will personally hate you for the rest of my life.
DO NOT FUCK WITH MY COASTER.

Is this real life?

Mis mejores poemes

My best poems
Were only read by one person
They are some silly cards
With much love inside
Spelling errors
And hints of longing

My best poems
Are not such, they are letters
That I write because this,
This I cannot speak
Because always he is far
Like everything good
Like everything that we value
Like god

Like the sea
I am from Casitilla and I have
A thistle for a soul
But I want to have an olive in my voice
I am from dry Castilla
I am Spanish earth
But I want to have my love in my love
It is almost funny to say this, LOVE, at this late time
LOVE in this era of companies and committees,
But I say LOVE LOVE I know what I say
—My best poems are letters that I have cried—
A poem is written
A letter is cried
A night can give birth
I have given birth and I have stolen things
—I have done a little of everything
But my best line…
Is a telegram

~Gloria Fuertes

I have never understood why it makes them so angry that somewhere, two people might be happy.

NOTICE

I have a huuuuuuuuuuuge girlcrush on my Spanish prof.

IF I start getting weird let me know.

you know what's really fucking annoying?

getting a "hey, i just read your story and it was SIIIIIICK" email from your editor as you are in the middle of typing out your resignation.

/such a waste of a polite resignation letter

La reina

Sometimes, Madonna makes me wish I'd been born earlier.

Ce n'est pas une sororité

When I was rushing, I met eight thousand smart women pretending to be sorority Barbies, which, in my opinion, is worse than actually being the sorority Barbie. I also met this wack Australian girl.

That was a good thing.

>Date: 19 Jan 2009 22:04:02 -0500
>From: Awesome Australian Girl
>Subject: read if you can be bothered. otherwise ignore.
>To: sigmadelta@Mac

Ok, so I'm bored, and Jo just did this, and I thought it was a great idea. So I will ignore the fact that no body expressed any interest whatsoever in the little details of the land down under, and regale you with them anyway. If you actually have a life, unlike me, please feel free to ignore this and get on with it.


CURRENCY: dollars. Currently trading at about 66 US cents. This year's been crazy though - in June it got up to 98.5 cents and in late August it hit 45 cents. Notes (we don't call them bills) are also a lot more colourful than in America, and are made of plastic, so if you leave them in your boardshorts pocket and go swimming, you're golden. Also, we have $1 and $2 coins, and we got rid of 1c and 2c coins about a decade ago.

LANGUAGE: English. Like British English (same spellings and all that), but with a funny accent, and a few colourful phrases thrown in here and there.

GEOGRAPHY: Big (6th on the list). But, like Canada, also very sparsely populated -- 2.5 people per square kilometre (Canada has 3.2). Population: about 21.4 million, all of them around the coast. There is nothing (NOTHING) in the middle of the country. If you drive across from Sydney to Perth, you see signs that say "Last petrol for 400km". There are 6 states and 2 territories (NT and ACT). The capital is Canberra (pronounced cam-bra, not can-bear-ra) and the biggest city is Sydney. Perth, state capital of Western Australia, is one of the most isolated regional capitals in the world. That's where I'm from.

FLAG: see attached. The big star under the Union Jack has seven points to represent the 7 states and territories (they didn't include the Australian Capital Territory coz it's tiny, insignificant, and no one cares about Canberra anyway). The constellation on the right is the Southern Cross. It's also on the NZ flag, but their stars are red, with five points. Ours are white with 7 points.

FAMOUS PEOPLE (just some you might have heard of): Nicole Kidman, Keith Urban, Heath Ledger (he was from Perth. The whole city went into shock when he died), Russel Crowe, Geoffrey Rush, Hugh Jackman, Banjo Patterson (poet, author of The Man from Snowy River), Ernie Dingo, Ian Thorpe, Shane Warne, Luc Longley (basketballer), Germaine Greer (feminist), Barry Humphries (alias Dame Edna Everage), Pat Rafter and Lleyton Hewitt (tennis players), Fiona Stanley (doctor, just about invented modern treatment for burns victims), Toni Collette, Cate Blanchett. Aussie bands you might know: Jet, Savage Garden, Missy Higgins, Crowded House, John Butler Trio, Silverchair, Men at Work, Ben Lee, Xavier Rudd...)

GOVERNMENT: Queen Elizabeth II is officially our head of state. We have our own parliament and constitution (we're very advanced like that). The current governing party is the Labor Party (the only time "labour" is spelt without a "u" for some reason), which is centre-left. The other big parties are the Liberals and Nationals (they form a coalition most of the time). There's also the Greens, One-Nation (the far-right one) and some other little ones.

INDUSTRY: Service mainly, but Mining and Agriculture make up about 60% of exports. Mostly wheat and wool, and iron-ore, gold, natural gas and coal, with some other bits and pieces thrown in (opals, silver, tin, nickel, diamonds, a bit of oil).

NATIONAL SYMBOLS: koala, kangaroo, eucalyptus tree, Sydney Opera House: the usual. Australian Rules Football, Uluru, the green and gold.
The Australian Coat of Arms shows all the states' symbols in a crest held up by a kangaroo and an emu. These two animals were chosen because a) they're both tall and b) neither can walk backwards (and our national anthem is called "Advance Australia Fair").
Funnily enough, the koala is not featured on any Australian money: the echidna, lyre bird, platypus, kangaroo and emu are.

OTHER SOURCES OF NATIONAL PRIDE: the only extant monotremes (egg-laying mammals - platypus and echidna), and most of the world's marsupials. We generally rank in the top six medal takers at the Summer Olympics, despite having a markedly smaller population than all the others at the top of that list.
In 2008, four cities (Melbourne 2nd, Perth 4th, Adelaide7th and Sydney 9th) reached The Economist's top ten "world's most livable cities" list.
The fact that we have desert, rainforest, coral reefs and alpine regions. And some of the oldest rocks on the planet (no volcanic activity helps).
Also, we walk upside-down (obviously).
And our swans are all black.

MEASUREMENTS: metric. Did you know that the imperial system is now standardised on the metric system? So an inch, officially, is 2.54cm, a foot is 30.48cm, and a mile is 1609.344m. Go figure. Initially, the metric system was defined by the French, making the distance from pole to equator 10,000km, and dividing it up accordingly. Now, a metre is defined as the distance that light travels in free space in one 299,792,458th of a second. How about that.

HOLIDAYS: We celebrate Australia Day on the 26th of January, Boxing Day on 26th of December, and there is no Thanksgiving. Most of Australia celebrates the Queen's Birthday on the second Monday in June. In Western Australia, we have Foundation day on the 1st Monday in June, so we do our own Queen's Birthday, which is kinda like Easter, with no fixed date. It's usually the last Monday in September or the 1st in October, but the State Governor decides it each year. None of these days actually celebrate any real queen's birthday, and the name will change to the King's Birthday Holiday when Charlie (or William, if it comes to that) takes the throne.

Ummmm.... I think that's it. I have successfully not done any work for about an hour now. Excellent. Good night.

Más de profesoras

My Spanish professor has the ability to pull off wearing cropped wool pants with boots. I am so impressed.

I mean she also has a Ph.D. from Columbia and is like, a big deal, but seriously: ROCKED the pants.

/ok, maybe I need MORE women and gender studies classes. Aaah!

i've decided not to make sense

your girl was named christina.

mine is neither christina nor mine.

also, in 2002 i was thirteen, which is a bit much, i think

fuck you

i prefer "entered this mortal coil with a differently-composited eating utensil in my masticatory orifice," thankyouverymuch.

Bristol, darling

Where, pray tell, is your baby? Hmmm? Because not only would I would hate for these nasty rumors to follow you and your charming mother around, I can't wait to see what you name the little bundle of joy.

/How about "Kumquat"? Kumquat Palin-Johnston. I like it.

Updated with perspective

I could be this guy.

or this guy.

Or a tragically emo blogger.

/oh shit

you owe me twenty four dollars for those pills

did i do something to you

is that why you broke my dreams

pretty girl pretty girl pretty girl
won't you open up your eyes
pretty girl pretty girl pretty girl
stop wearing your disguise

i know a girl next door
she wears all white
alone in her room she's afraid of light
a diary is her best friend
writing away all the things she's too shy to say
too shy to say

a cold day she walks alone
wishing she had someone's hand to hold
so warm
so warm

but she's too afraid to even raise her head
she'll think of all her emptiness instead
her emptiness instead

pretty girl pretty girl pretty girl
won't you open up your eyes
pretty girl pretty girl pretty girl
stop wearing your disguise

break your mirror the way it breaks your smile
hold your head up don't have to hide for a while
and you'll see (you'll see) how beautiful you can be

break your mirror the way it breaks your heart
step outdoors away from the dark
and you'll see (you'll see) how beautiful you can be

pretty girl pretty girl pretty girl
won't you open up your eyes
pretty girl pretty girl pretty girl
stop wearing your disguise

break your mirror the way it breaks your smile
hold your head up don't have to hide for a while
and you'll see (you'll see) how beautiful you can be

break your mirror the way it breaks your heart
step outdoors away from the dark
and you'll see how beautiful you can be

pretty girl pretty girl pretty girl
wouldn't open up her eyes
pretty girl pretty girl pretty girl
forever a prisoner of her disguise

no tienen un problema con desnudez porque en realidad, son desnudos por todos sus vidas. nunca los aprenden a esconder sus pensamientos. no hay mentiras piadosas en su cultura.

es tan interesante a verlos en nuestra mundo. en esta universidad que fue fundado por protestantes ingleses.

me pregunté que ezekiel wheelock pensaría si él viera dartmouth hall, su edificio original, con españolas, italianas, francesas.

probablemente él habría muerto cuando vio a la mayoría de nuestro alumnado.

i ski at ninety-nine miles an hour and i drive like a maniac sixteen-year-old. i have three different kinds of water boards and an obsession with the perfect wave. i chase information, i write stories fifteen minutes before deadline and sprint across campus to turn in my thirty-second-late papers.

i never sleep.

i want boys i can't have, clothes i can't afford and i will fucking out-snipe you on eBay. i email nine people at once and i have five news tabs on auto-refresh--at least.

i am caffeine.

i chase roller coasters.

i talk too fast.

i want the rush. papersargumentsheightsspeeddepthfreefallcoffeedeadlinesoutofcontrolcrazyitisspinning
anditiswild.

i will count the stars.

I drank the Kool-Aid

Yes. I inhaled. Frequently. That was the point.

you sort of doubt she grows roses

you do not remember your dreams. other people describe fantastic scenarios with plots, details, semi-realistic situations. real-life characters.

you remember feelings. images. sounds.

but last night you remembered her.

like fire

hellfire

is turning me to sin

it's not my fault

mea maxima culpa

*pat pat*

So The Blonde with Hot Librarian Glasses is my current roommate. (Yes, I realized it was stupid to name The Awesome Roommate as such because while she is still awesome, she is not still my roommate. I guess I could change her name to The Awesome Thursday Morning Breakfast Buddy. Let that be noted.)

Anyway, The Blonde is a highly HIGHLY intelligent person. She kicks my ass in math. She is also...from Texas. For the sake of preserving warm and fuzzy roommate feelings, we try not to discuss politics that much, but the past few months have forced us to break the rules.

Conversation that took place yesterday (please try to keep in mind the part where she is HIGHLY INTELLIGENT I SWEAR.)

"OHMYGOD I can't believe he's going to appoint Hillary Clinton as the Secretary of State!!"

"I mean...she's smart. And she's bitchy, which is kind of a pre-req. Oooooh did you buy CHEESE?"

"Yeah, I'm making melty cheesy dip."

"SWEET."

"But seriously, like, whatever...ow ow ow cheesy salty stuff in paper cut---if Hillary is secretary of state, we are going to get attacked SO FAST."

"I don't know...would YOU fuck with Hillary Clinton? Because I wouldn't."

"Neither would Bill. Heh. Anyway, she's a woman! Our key diplomacy is with ARABIC COUNTRIES. Are they going to even LISTEN to her? Plus, Clinton Clinton was a pussy--they'll remember that. Can I use some of your jalapenos?"

"SPICY CHEESY DIP! You can have a jalapeno if you answer one question: Who is our current secretary of state?"

"Ummm...."

"You totally know this."

"Oh shit."

"Yes..."

"It's Condelezza Rice."

"Who is..."

"A woman. Give me your stupid liberal jalapenos."

/she makes good food so I keep her around.

*Le Sigh*

I really wish I hadn't taken a civil liberties class because I don't have an opinion on anything anymore but I'm still pretty sure this is fucked up.

As I'm way too cracked out right now to provide intelligent commentary, I will instead provide some entertaining Avenue Q lyrics:

"Now there was a fine upstanding black man!

Who?

Jesus Christ.

But, Gary, Jesus was white.

No, Jesus was black.

No, Jesus was white.

No, I'm pretty sure that Jesus was black-

Guys, guys...Jesus...was Jewish!"

HALP

You know how something that's only semi-funny strikes you at a time when it is unbelievably inappropriate to laugh, like at a funeral or when you're in the course reserves, and thus becomes EXPONENTIALLY funnier?

Yeah.

/I'm really weirding out the person next to me tonight.

Bloody Hell.

*snort*

From Dartmouth 2013 Facebook group:

"Is Dartmouth generally more conservative than some of the other ivies?

Yes, in the same way that Liechtenstein is larger than Monaco and the Vatican. "

/yup

This is my only chance to be blinded by idealsim

I forgot to acknowledge the 5th of November V for Vendetta style. (my transcript of Valerie's thoughts was early). Oh the nerd shame.

If I were a stupid idealistic college student drawing grandiose parallels, I might point out that the reason I forgot was because Barack Obama was giving his victory speech at midnight on what was, incidentally, the fifth day of November. And by 12:30 I was busy being part of a mob. A loud cheering screaming chanting trampling mob. Mobs can be difficult up here in the boonies, because there is really nowhere to go, but we managed, by descending on the president's house. Security was peeved, but he's pretty chill and acquiesced to the rather inexplicable demand that he make a speech. (He managed to satisfy the crowd without actually making a partisan statement. Brilliant. That's why he's the president of the College.) The Hanover police, who were thrilled to have something to do came and broke up the mob, which fragmented into a fraction that went to get drunk and faction that went to get cheese fries at food court.

It was great. (Really shit video) I didn't finish my Spanish homework, and I do not regret it, and when I'm forty, I will say I was an idiot.

However.

""We are told to remember the idea, not the man. Because a man can fail. He can be caught, he can be killed and forgotten."

Especially if the media has crowned him king.

My name is caffeinegirl

...and I'm a news addict.

Hi caffeinegirl!

There is no election news. There are no Biden gaffes. There is no Palin idiocy.

This is me:

Gobama

This was posted as a scandalous item but I think it's fucking awesome. I would also like a sound byte of Obama saying "fucking" because I think that would be amusing, considering his demeanor.

* The debates unnerved both candidates. When he was preparing for them during the Democratic primaries, Obama was recorded saying, "I don't consider this to be a good format for me, which makes me more cautious. I often find myself trapped by the questions and thinking to myself, 'You know, this is a stupid question, but let me … answer it.' So when Brian Williams is asking me about what's a personal thing that you've done [that's green], and I say, you know, 'Well, I planted a bunch of trees.' And he says, 'I'm talking about personal.' What I'm thinking in my head is, 'Well, the truth is, Brian, we can't solve global warming because I fucking changed light bulbs in my house. It's because of something collective'." *


/almost as awesome as Scottish professors saying "bloody hell"

omgsrslyaaaaaktxbai

"If [the media] convince enough voters that that is negative campaigning, for me to call Barack Obama out on his associations," Palin told host Chris Plante, "then I don't know what the future of our country would be in terms of First Amendment rights and our ability to ask questions without fear of attacks by the mainstream media."


Salon's Glenn Greenwald explains why this argument is frighteningly wrong:

If anything, Palin has this exactly backwards, since one thing that the First Amendment does actually guarantee is a free press. Thus, when the press criticizes a political candidate and a Governor such as Palin, that is a classic example of First Amendment rights being exercised, not abridged.


This isn't only about profound ignorance regarding our basic liberties, though it is obviously that. Palin here is also giving voice here to the standard right-wing grievance instinct: that it's inherently unfair when they're criticized. And now, apparently, it's even unconstitutional.

According to Palin, what the Founders intended with the First Amendment was that political candidates for the most powerful offices in the country and Governors of states would be free to say whatever they want without being criticized in the newspapers. The First Amendment was meant to ensure that powerful political officials would not be "attacked" in the papers. It is even possible to imagine more breathaking ignorance from someone holding high office and running for even higher office?

Epic Flail

Scene: Government 54, U.S. Foreign Policy

Actors: The Professor, kickass
Me, spastic
Phil, less spastic

As participation is "highly encouraged and may be factored into our grades" I have been known to occasionally do the reading for this class. I don't always work up the nerve to contribute, but sometimes, the pretentious assholes (we have a female one in this class, how diverse), sometimes they get to me and I work up the nerve to raise my hand. El profesor, who is actually a very cool guy, is sensitive to the fact that it's kind of awkward to have people sitting there with their hands up and to maintain a sense of order/blood circulation, he usually acknowledges the group of people with their hands raised, a la "Okay, so we'll hear from Radical Republican, Stoner Hippie, and then Caffeinegirl."

Everyone collectively tunes out Radical Republican, as that's better for your blood pressure. I surreptitiously check blitz on my phone. Rad Repub shuts up and THEN. The prof calls on me OUT OF ORDER. Flustered, I attempt to compose my thoughts.

For some reason, this causes me to FLING MY PHONE DOWN THE CENTER AISLE OF THE ROOM. The phone is shiny. The carpet is slippery. It slides ALL THE WAY TO THE FRONT ROW, where it lands next to Phil, fellow newspaper slave. He quickly picks it up.

I have no idea what I said after that, but I'm not sure if I recovered successfully or not. I kind of doubt it.


To do: GLUE PHONE TO HAND.

No cheating

i know there is no way I can convince you that this is not one of their tricks. but i don't care. i am me. my name is valerie. i don't think i'll live much longer and i wanted to tell someone about my life. this is the only autobiography i will ever write and god--i'm writing it on toilet paper.

i was born in nottingham in 1985. i don't remember much about those early years, but i do remember the rain. my grandmother owned a small farm in tuttlebrook and she used to tell me that god was in the rain.

i passed my eleven-plus and went to girl's grammar. it was at school that i met my first girl friend. her name was sarah. it was her wrists--they were beautiful. i thought we would love each other forever. our teacher told us it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew. sarah did. i didn't.

in 2002 i fell in love with a girl named kristina. that year i came out to my parents. i couldn't have done it without kris holding my hand. my father wouldn't look at me. he told me to go and never come back. my mother said nothing. but i had only told them the truth. was that so selfish? our integrity sells for so little, but it is all we really have. it is that very last inch of us--but within that inch we are free.

i'd always known what i wanted to do with my life and in 2015 i starred in my first film, the salt flats. it was the most important role of my life, not because of my career, but because it was how i met ruth. the first time we kissed, i knew i never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again.

we moved to a small flat in london together. she grew scarlet castles for me in our window-box and our place always smelled of roses. those were the best years of my life.

but america's war grew worse, and eventually came to london. after that there were no roses anymore. not for anyone

i remember how the meaning of words began to change. how unfamiliar words like collateral and rendition became frightening while things like norsefire and the articles of allegiance became powerful.

i remember how different became dangerous. i still don't understand it. why they hate us so much. they took ruth while she was out buying food. i'd never cried so hard in my life. it wasn't long before they came for me.

it seems strange that my life should end in such a terrible place but for three years i had roses and apologized to no one.

i shall die here. every inch of me shall perish. every inch but one. it is small and it is fragile and it is the only thing in the world worth having. we must never lose it or give it away. we must never let them take it from us.
i hope whoever you are that you escape this terrible place. i hope that the world turns and that things get better. but most of all i hope that you understand what i mean when i tell you that even though i do not know you, that i will never meet you, cry with you, laugh with you, or kiss you--i love you. with all my heart. i love you.

valerie.

this is so deeply frightening.

5.6 liters is quite a bit.

you're pretty sure you were never even close.

but you've seen her.

she might be close.

she might even be over.

and she is so tiny.

Overheard

'10 girl: "I would SO do her, but, like, platonically."
'10 guy: "So...sex yes, sexual tension, no?"
'10 girl: "Exactly."

RIGHT.

UPDATE

There are actual things for me to write about, which will come, I swear, but for now...

I WENT STREAKING!!!

It was awesome.

/self call!

News: Anti-sorority rush sucks just as much as rush.

you liar.

I have so much to say that I can't write anything.

you said, "but you're only seventeen."

i fought you.

know something?

you were right.

Allegedly we are all highly intelligent

We sat around brainstorming excuses. Not "the printer ate my homework and my hard drive crashed and I have mono"-level excuses. Real ones, that stop professors flat and leave them speechless, but in an extension-granting mood.

We settled on "I'm so sorry my paper is late, but my brother came out to my religious parents and I had to go home to do damage control."

This narrowly beat out "My sister had an abortion and there were complications."

Of course, we could have done our work instead.

He would have said hung

I am sitting here editing someone's article.

He should be hanged for war crimes against the English language.

Clearly, I am from the wrong planet

Possible reasons that my mother, who has a habit of disappearing to the deepest recesses of the house while boiling water for tea, freaks out if anyone shuts off the burner when the whistle goes off.

....
....
....

Screw it, I can't even come up with something mildly plausible, let alone amusing.

/"WAIT! I'LL GET IT!" Her voice echoes from the crawl space under the basement. The piercing whistle bores into my brain and I draw closer to the ever-approaching brink of INSANITY.

Applied logic

The mother has a desk in her study, which is covered with miscellaneous paper, and a desk in the kitchen, which is covered with cookbooks. Thus, she does her writing at the computer that is on the brother's desk. Since he tends to go to sleep and turn out the lights, she does most of her work in the dark.

The brother does his work at the kitchen table, because his desk is covered with the mother's manuscripts.

We eat sitting on stools at the kitchen counter, because the table is covered with the brother's homework, except for the sister, because her space at the counter is covered with her math homework. The sister carries a plate of food into the study, where her English homework is spread out on the floor, and sits next to the plate of food for about an hour. She then throws the food out in the downstairs bathroom, which does not contain anyone's homework.

The father has decided to do all of his work in his Manhattan office, and to eat all of his meals before he comes home.

If I had an office in the city, I WOULD BE THERE.

the long awaited return...

"It's Project Runway--we're talking about reality show royalty here. I bet even Anton Scalia watches it."

~La professora increíble

mathematics

she always gets chinese or indian

which is more expensive than pizza

but is based on rice

rice grains stay separate the whole time

easier

it costs more

but it's less in the end if you know what she's adding up

None of you speak Dartmouth, but...

There are no posts

I realize this. *shame.*

However: I have a paper and finals coming up. That should generate some ACTIVE STUDYING, by which I mean massive procrastination.

Also: part of the reason there were no updates is because I started writing a humor column for the less-uptight section of our paper. I have not posted them here because they are essentially gigantic inside jokes about our campus, but...anyone interested?

I KNEW THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.

I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE.

WHAT THE HELL. IS WRONG. WITH YOU PEOPLE?

ALL OF YOU?

Overheard

Frat guy: Yo, sorry, you have to leave, we can’t let high school people in.

High school girl, as she throws a beer in the guy's face: I AM A GROWN-ASS BITCH!

Guy, as he escorts her out: Too bad, we don’t let grown-ass bitches in either.

probably the best thing that you can do right now is accept that this is going to be a SLOW process.

y sabes que este sería más rapida en españa, pero sabes que no es posible. aunque tu te preguntes porque estaba necessario a volver, entiendes al mismo tiempo porque. es porque ahora tienes algo para que no hay una palabra ni en castellano ni en ingles. este es mas importante que españa.

pero te lo extrañas, es una país hermosa con cosas perfectas.

particularmente el café. estaba si bueno pero al mismo tiempo no estaba necessario. estaba una elección. nunca vas a saber si estaba una eleción porque estaba bueno o si estaba bueno porque estaba una elección.

me parece mas como una chica emo en castellano que en ingles. tu les pides perdon, pero conoces si poco de la idioma y también ahora misma la estas pediendo.

Also, college probably has better parties

Why college is superior to high school:

In college, they are allowed to teach philosophy.

In high school, they have to pretend they are teaching something stupid like English and craftily sneak in the philosophy.

sometimes all of the pieces come together. you don't want to look for the scar, but you can't stop yourself. and of course, it's there, so now you know.

but what the fuck do you SAY?

You know when you have a single stray hair stuck to your bare arm?

And you cannot see it or remove it yourself BUT YOU KNOW IT'S THERE. Because you can feel it. Sense it. DRIVING YOU CRAZY.

This is the level of IRKED-NESS I am currently experiencing. (I mean, the hair thing happens too. I shed.) But. Something completely unrealted, but that generates the same level of RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE.

I know a Person. She believes that she is Very Creative, and thus likes to Captialize. Random words. Like this. And use pun. Cuation. WHERE THERE SHOULD BE NO PUNCTUATION AT ALL.

She's a rebel, people.

She once even...DYED HER HAIR. It was blonde, BUT NOW IT'S BROWN. Oh. My. God. I realize it is hard to comprehend, but yes. SHE WENT THERE. The media tells you to be blonde and SHE AIN'T LISTING TO THE MAN, SISTA. I realize that NO ONE HAS DONE THIS BEFORE and that it may be TOO MUCH for you to handle because this was A STATEMENT. About herSelf. That she is very busy discovering. AND TELLING ME/YOU/LARRY KING/ THE UNIVERSE about. Then I had this fantasy that involved punching her in the teeth.

It was beautiful.

Anyway, we're writing for the same "creative" publication. There's a section where all the contributors answer a question from the editor.

This week's question: "What song lyrics describe your summer mantra?"

Her answer: "Summer days, drifting away...to oh-oh those summer nights."

Oh. My. CHEESEBURGER.

THAT WAS WHAT YOU CAME UP WITH? IN ALL YOUR DARK, ALL-BLACK-WEARING LISTENING TO THE SPICE GIRLS BECAUSE THAT MAKES YOU REEEEETRO SELF-NESS, THAT WAS WHAT YOU CAME UP WITH? FUCKING GREASE?

I'm going to stab her with a spork. Then I'm going to post a picture of it on her Xanga and call it Performan.ce aRt.

/Wave your hands in the air/If you feel fine/We're gonna take it into overtime/Welcome to the space jam

people disappear. good, bad, book touring, parkhursted. saving kids in india, dropping out, interning with goldman, "leave."

" leave" can mean so many things, but sometimes it is too easy to figure it out.

she was so fragile.

i wonder what they did with her, where she is. if she's scared. and i wish i could fix her, this person who used to be my friend, but the only one who can do that is her.

sometimes it's too much and we don't make it.

ISRAELI-PALESTINIAN-CONFLICT-MUFFIN

I'm back on the North American continent but I think that broke my brain.

I'll be with you as soon as I'm more sane/no longer jetlagged/get over my sudden withdrawl from Spanish coffee

Also, "honking" is a completely awesome word

Fact of the day: First communions are a BIG HONKING DEAL around here and people take a TRUCKLOAD of pictures.

Minor annoyance of the day: Then they show EVERY SINGLE PICTURE to their foreign exchange student. There are only so many times I can say, “Oh, she looks pretty” and sound sincere, chica.

(Also, nice shots of you, sweetheart. Did you actually wear THAT MUCH makeup to church? And they let you IN? ¡Hostia!)

Linguistics

Lidia comes for lunch sometimes.

I have noticed, if they are in a fight, Paquita refers to her as “mi hija.” My daughter.

But if they aren’t in a fight, it’s “mi niña.” My little girl. My baby.

Does she think about her word choice?

Does Lidia care?

Do I analyze things to death?

POR. FA. VOR.

WHAT? What what what what WHAT?

AY MUJER.

So you usually DON’T take a nap after lunch, but if you have lunch with me and are thus TALKING to someone, YOU HAVE TO TAKE A NAP BECAUSE THAT MAKES YOU OUT OF BREATH?

Talking makes you out of breath? Madre FREAKING mia.

Oh you’d like my year-and-a-half-of-pre-med opinion? Is it because you’re getting old? NO, I DON’T THINK IT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE GETTING OLD. I THINK IT’S BECAUSE YOU SMOKE THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND CIGERETTES A SECOND. HAS THAT EVER OCCURRED TO YOU?

Oh.

Of course not.

DUH.

Paquita Logic

If she doesn’t have time to make me anything for lunch besides a sandwich, she should give me wine, to make up for it.

If she has time to make a full meal, she should give me wine, because it’s part of the meal.

On the bright side, my alcohol tolerance has increased markedly.

Chica, PLEASE

This is Paquita's favorite song.

How the HELL did she select something so appropriate without speaking English?

Guess what?

Picasso...was Spanish!

This is not actually groundbreaking, but it does make that time I gave a presentation about him as a FRENCH artist in FRENCH class rather funny.

/Especially because I got an A.

it always is those two. coffee. chocolate. and every fucking time i wonder if there is indeed some order to the universe because the irony that those are the worst is just so horrific that it makes me bitterly laugh.

and i can't outofpracticemaybe dios mío if you knew what you had caused, please, for the love of God it's too much, stop giving people food. mujer, por favor.

if you knew.

Spit

In the middle of a highly embarrassing (for me) conversation about thongs:

Paquita: "Kati, you have something on your face."

*licks napkin, leans over, wipes whatever it is off of my face*

It's really amusing when the Paquita side of her collides with the mother side of her.

So I leave the U.S. for five minutes

and they go and come up with this while I'm gone.

I can't decide whether to go all American-college-student-OMG-WANT-GIMME-NOW or to go all America-college-student-who-was-just-in-Europe-and-is-now
all-above-your-mass-marketed-consumer-crap.

/I'll get back to you

She tells me that I think too much. If she only knew.

Sometimes I wonder what I would think of Paquita if I had met her speaking English, but it is a thought I suppress because I would have judged her.

She is uneducated. She is sometimes crude. She is stubborn and will never admit if she is actually incorrect. She smokes like it’s keeping her alive. She holds grudges, forever. You could say she’s kind of a bitch, and you wouldn’t be wrong, and as much as she is European, stylish and sophisticated to the American me, in truth, she also might be kind of…trashy.

Before she was sick, she was a secretary, somewhere, I don’t know where, and I can hear the dismissive, sometimes cruel comments that the investment bankers and the lawyers make about their secretaries, how sometimes they imitate the thick Brooklyn accents, and sometimes I can imagine her as the woman they are mocking. The woman that I have also mocked, have seen on the street and have thought that I was better than her.

I didn’t know.

I’m not going to give you some hugely cliché thing right now about how “Oh but I didn’t know, her life was really difficult, I’m so THANKFUL that I was given this opportunity to meet her,” blah-blah-blah-DIVE Day-cakes, put it in your college admissions essay, cariña. Not that she didn’t go through a lot of shit, and not that I don’t respect her, tremendously, for surviving, because life dealt her a hell of a hand, stuff many people couldn’t take, but she did, and she’s Paquita, Spanish chica extraordinaire.

But I don’t always agree with Spanish chicas. Sometimes, in my opinion, they make bad decisions. Sometimes, our values are too different. I was raised to believe that working hard is THE most important thing that you can do, taught to look down on people who don’t, learned to be ashamed if my lack of effort ever even slightly inconvenienced another person. Maybe that’s right and maybe it isn’t I don’t know. I say that Spanish people don’t work, because really, they don’t, but cultural differences aside…Paquita? Not so into the whole working thing. Example: sometimes, she sleeps through her alarm and I don’t see her at breakfast. Whatevs, no passa nada, I really don’t care, the first time it happened she did apologize, asked me if I knew where all the breakfast stuff was so I could grab something before I went out, I did. The mother? Good lord. With her own family, let ALONE a foreign exchange student, if she wasn’t up three hours before everyone else and didn’t make breakfast? I think if she ever accidentally sleeps through her alarm, she’ll die of shame. (No, it’s never happened. Ever. It’s against the laws of physics, I think.)

And that’s what I didn’t know. That I could not agree with someone, fundamentally, that I could judge them, that they’re probably judging me, thinking I’m crazy (verdad), who knows what, that we could just be a completely random pair…and that we could still be friends. Amigas. Juntos.

We are both Aries, something she puts a lot of stock in, and if we go out, if we have a drink, now, we toast las mujeres Aries, stubborn and sort of crazy, and we’re the perfect example of how differently those characteristics can manifest themselves. And I want a picture, because I want to see the scene from outside, the teeny little Spanish madre and her slightly awkward foreign student, in a bar, glasses raised, and actually, no, I don’t want a picture—I want to freeze that moment in time and never let it go.

411

It is easy to throw out a quick post about something outrageous, and it is easier still to select only certain elements of someone’s personality and to pick choice quotes and come up with a character in a story instead of a person in your life.

Because there is a lot more.

I don’t know why she has told me. Is it because of the language barrier, the way that everything has to be so simple, or would she tell me anyway? Sometimes it is impossible to pick up on social norms and I cannot tell if she is crazy, Spanish, maybe a little low-class, or all three.

I tell her, “Paquita you have no secrets,” and she laughs, and I am still confused.

This is what I know:

(In chronological order because dios mio how would I pick a way to organize it?)

1. She was born in the south of Spain, second youngest of six children. I have seen a picture, old and black and white. Little Paqui in blonde pigtails, to my immediate surprise, is shy and hiding from the camera. She tells me that she too is shy and I tell her I do not believe her.

2. Her family moved to Catalunya when she was nine. She can understand and read Catalan but doesn’t speak it. The family was very Catholic, very poor. She dropped out of school when she was twelve, to work. I am very careful when I ask her questions about the language now, because she will remind me how she does not know, she did not study. (Nouns are infinitely safer than verb tenses.) She speaks very colloquially and I can now see when her grammar is off.

3. She met Juan when she was nineteen, in a dance club. She was with her sisters, and her older sister liked him too, but the next week he asked her to dance, only her. They dated for six years before they were married. He left 20 years later. She woke up and he was gone. She is still in love him and I would wager that is the reason for the prescription of Prozac she once left in the kitchen by mistake.

4. She has two children. The oldest, Lidia, is almost 24. Pretty (although in my opinion her mother is prettier), very smart, from what I can tell, I’ve only met her twice. She works in Luxembourg, with her boyfriend, of whom Paquita does not approve (I think it’s because he’s Portuguese). Children usually take sides in a divorce and Lidia clearly chose her father, and I have seen her hurt her mother, deliberately calculated, and I have heard Paquita tell me that it does not bother her and I don’t believe a word. And I have done the same thing, and I know that it is different for Lidia because she calls her Mama instead of Paquita but still, I wish she weren’t a bitch like that.

4. The other is named Victor. He is 19. When Paquita was pregnant with him, Juan threw her into a door during an argument, and burned her stomach with a cigarette lighter. I have no idea what my face looked like when she told me that. The doctors told her she would lose the baby, but he lived. He’s mentally retarded but considering the circumstances, very high-functioning. He loves Hillary Duff’s music.

She stayed with Juan, of course, even though he did that, and I wonder if it even occurred to her that perhaps she should leave, escape. It probably didn’t, and she has an odd scar on her jaw that makes me think it has been broken, more than once. And I cannot give you a reason for any of that, but I can tell you that it is the same reason that she is still in love with him.

5. There was a boyfriend, after Juan. José. Former fútbol player, current team trainer, aka A BIG FREAKING DEAL. I’ve met him, he’s a classic sports superstar smooth playa hiding the asshole underneath. She knows that, and now they are “friends, to talk on the phone.” He wants her back and I know she debates just going back, because it would be easy, but she does not let herself. I think.

6. She has worked many, many different jobs, and I think one of them was definitely sketchy—I never understand 100% of what she says but it involved her, in France, with men. She was 14. (For all I know she was selling flowers. Translation errors are an unfortunate reality.) Now, she doesn’t work. She’s sick. At first she told me it was fibromyalgia, and I, the scientist who doesn’t believe in that, was skeptical. Even though I see how sometimes, she is so clearly seized with pain, she will never admit it, will yell at me if I try to pick up whatever it is on the floor so she doesn’t have bend over. But then she tells me, with her little naughty smile how she flirts with the doctor who signed her form for disability payments, and I wonder, I judge her, accuse her in my mind of simply not wanting to go to work.

But there is something else, too, besides fibromyalgia and phantom pain, and knowing how she is, I believe that she would tell me about the “fibromyalgia” and hide whatever it is she also has that is more serious. That some days makes her completely unable to eat. That sometimes makes her vomit, endlessly, even though I know there is nothing in her stomach. I’m sure she thought I couldn’t hear, but I can unfortunately detect that sound rather well and one day worked up the nerve to ask if she was okay. Because, despite her personality, she is still a Spanish woman, and they are so damn SMALL, tiny even. Narrow shoulders, slender wrists, arms, legs—I feel like if I were careless, I might break her. Not that anyone could actually break her—she’d kick your ass first.


This sounds sort of emo, but I had to get all the facts out, somehow. If I don’t say it, it rattles around in my head and drives me crazier.

I wrote a story

so it's in Spanish. Oh well. I like it.

Hay un parque cerca de mi trabajo que me gusta, es donde voy cada tarde para sentarme y para leer mi periódico tabloide, mi actividad ligeramente vergonzosa para el día. Es uno de esos parques que el gobierno de la ciudad construyó cuando el alcalde quería decir a los ciudadanos que él estaba trayendo la naturaleza a la ciudad, para los niños, claro. Entonces ellos metiendo los parques adondequiera había espacio, y algunos, como mío, son tan pequeñitos que parecen ridículos, unas islas minúsculas en el centro del caos urbano, el tipo de trabajo del gobierno que explica porque los contribuyentes siempre quieren llorar.

Mi parque posiblemente no es completamente un desperdicio. Hay solo algunos árboles y la banca donde estoy sentando ahora, no hay bastante espacio para un patio de recreo, pero algunos de los niños del barrio vienen aquí, para jugar. Ellos pueden encontrar espacio para sus juegos, pienso que ellos juegan al escondite o juegan al corre que te pillo o posiblemente otra cosa, no sé exactamente que los niños hagan estas días. ¿Qué hacen ahora ?

Dios, uno ha trepado un árbol. A veces, sus juegos son un poco peligrosos y quiero decirse parar, pero recuerdo cuando tenía siete anos, y no me gustaría una descocida entrometida, entonces, no hago nada pero me pregunto, ¿ donde están sus padres?

¿ Ah, que pasa? Están mirando un pájaro pequeño. Si, puedo ver, el cayó de ese nido a esto cepo más bajo. Esto niño en el árbol está tratando ayudarlo. Él se sale del árbol con el pájaro pequeño en sus manos. Se me caigo mi tabloide y me levanto para mirarlos.

El niño pone el pájaro sobre la tierra. Es lerda, inestable sobre sus pies. Los niños agrupan alrededor del pájaro y lo siguen, el está tratando escaparse, claro está aterrorizado. Me parezco que esté tan pequeña para volar, prácticamente no puede ni correr y—Dios mío. Él corrió en la calle, enfrente de un coche. Que lastima.

Los niños están al margen de la calle, con cinco bocas pequeñas abiertas en círculos perfectos de sorpresa, hasta uno empieza reír. Es uno tipo de reacción, supongo. Tres de los otros empiezan reír también, riendo hasta ellos tienen que sentarse sobre la tierra. Pero uno, el niño quien trepó el árbol, él está llorando.

“ ¡ No es divertido, idiotas! ” él grita a los otros, y huye, pienso para su casa. Hay una parte de mi corazón que quiere seguirlo. Probablemente él piensa que la culpa es suya, pero claro, no es. Culpo el alcalde, o posiblemente los ciudadanos quien votan y ponen impuestos. Yo, por ejemplo.

Doblo mi tabloide, he leyendo solo la primera mitad, pero ahora tengo que volver a mi casa. Los otros niños todavía están aquí, están jugando un juego diferente, quizás ellos han olivado el pájaro. Tengo que caminar cerca del pájaro para cruzar la calle, pobre diablo, y no puedo contenerme de mirarlo. Está más que un poco repugnante, pero mientras miro, yo también empiezo reír. No es divertido, pero es mi mundo, nuestro mundo, que nosotros hemos creado, un mundo donde necesitamos construir los parques ridículos en el centro de la ciudad y no puedo hacer nada para repararlo, pero puedo reír.

Right hand stirring the onions, left hand holding a cigarette and pouring herself another glass of sangria

If I can figure out a way to surreptitiously videotape her, believe me, I will.