Speaking of ‘Precious’

I have said before that my life, which people who aren’t me seem to think should be some sort of action-packed romp around the Continent, doesn’t exactly resemble the sort of thing that Hemingway and Fitzgerald wrote about. Normally this is a point of some consternation for me. The other day, as I wept into my mid-afternoon martini about the sheer unglamorousness of being me, I recalled this quotation from Hemingway that is just So My Life. (That’s a slight exaggeration. It was a Pims and Lemonade.)

Several days later I have mustered enough get-up-and-go to locate the quotation. Which is written in a notebook. A notebook that is sitting on my desk. The desk where I spend copious amounts of time every day.

Not that I’m doing anything productive during the time I’m sitting at my desk. You see, I am a young procrastinator. I am full of ideas and inspiration and good intentions, I just happen to be terminally lazy. That notebook I mentioned with the quotation written in it? It’s basically full of sketches and outlines of a year’s worth of harebrained schemes. Of all these things I want to write about.

Do you know what I should be writing about right now? I should be writing inquiry letters and cover letters to potential employers about how awesome and motivated I am. I should be writing my dissertation on museum education for students with Autistic Spectrum Disorders. What am I actually writing? This blog. A review of Oreo cookies for no useful reason whatsoever. Instant messages. Because I will leave the things that I should be writing and should be doing until the last possible moment, until right before it’s too late to share them.

Which reminds me…the quotation:

You’re an expatriate. You’ve lost touch with the soil. You get precious. Fake European standards have ruined you. You drink yourself to death. You become obsessed by sex. You spend all your time talking, not working. You are an expatriate, see. You hang around cafes.

-The Sun Also Rises

I really didn’t intend for this entry to sound so nihilistic and, well, precious. The stuff that needs to get done will get done. Eventually. In the meantime I have some drinking in cafes to attend to.

Lessons Learned Looking at Facebook Photos; Also Letters to Cool People

I have learned several lessons while looking through photos of myself on Facebook just now. This is an activity I partake in pretty much every time I friend new people, since I know it’s one of the first things they’ll be perusing on my profile. I certainly don’t read their agonizingly long lists of preferred books, movies and ice cream flavors…but 837 tagged photos of them taking body shots, showing off their orange tans, vomiting and/or grabbing their friends’ bosoms? Bring it on! Never mind that the photos tagged of me are mostly of me doing one of the following: a) sitting sedately in a bar with a pint glass in front of me b) smiling with a small gaggle of friends, usually in front of a monument of some sort, and with a minimum of bosom grabbing c) doing something dorky and Harry Potter related or d) humping a wall. I don’t know how that last one sneaks in there, but it always does. There are many photos of me humping walls. And doors. Basically anything flat and vertical.

In addition to this very important lesson (Lesson 1: I am Not Cool. Surprise!) I have learned a few others that, because I am so uncool (see Lesson 1), I feel compelled to share with you

Lesson 2: I look better with long hair. While I desperately want short hair and keep trying to convince myself it will look cute, the evidence is quite to the contrary. The shorter my hair is the more ridiculous it looks. Bobbing it will probably be a poor choice, especially in the summer. Especially in a country that has callously discontinued the one styling product that works for my hair. (I suspect this is because I am the only curly haired consumer in the entire United Kingdom. Damn you, genetics!)

Lesson 3: I have the correct items in my everyday wardrobe (read: items I wear out of the house on a regular basis) to make the following costumes:

• Spy
• Male History Professor
• Female Hippie History Professor
• Hippie
• 1920s Safari Person
• Lady Zookeeper
• Equestrian
• Random 1920s person (male)

The moral of the story is that this is a startling number of costume-y pieces for one, ostensibly normal wardrobe. Also, if I lived in the 1920s I probably would have been considered some sort of sexually deviant drag king. (Especially if I went around humping walls.) If loving tweed is wrong then I don’t want to be right!

Edited for clarity: I realize that there’s the possibility that orange, body-shot taking people from my past may find this blog via my Facebook profile and I want to make sure that, in this eventuality, they understand that I mean no offense. You see, we Uncool folks have our own form of social climbing to do, and the prize basically goes to the person who can be the most facetious and self-deprecating. I am not even in the running for this as I am too mediocre for even the heights of Uncoolness, so rest easy knowing I will never be lambasting your orangeness or my wall-humping in the pages of the New Yorker. Also, I do my fair share of drinking and vomiting, I just don’t capture these activities on film. Instead I say things like “Oh, get one of me in the Eskimo costume running from the taxidermied polar bear!” or “Oh look, people dressed up as Quidditch players! Let’s take a photo with them!” You see fair reader (fair=orange), I have my priorities straight.

I’m going to stop now because I think you get the point. No offense but unto myself, etc etc. I still laugh at your tans though.

Eew, the WordPress dashboard has an ugly new look.

Here is a glimpse into my exciting and glamorous life in Europe: I visit cool places, become even more extremely poor than I am now, and then return ‘home’ to my dorm room in Leicester. I never update about my travels because life aside from those travels is so mundanely boring. No one wants to hear about your Continental frolics unless you also have something exciting coming up in your schedule, as in “Last night Zelda and I dined at the Ritz, and tomorrow we will head off for a week in St Kitts.” Notice how my example contained zero references to the Continent, although I guess the Ritz is probably everywhere by now.

Let’s give it a try, shall we?

Last week I went inside a 5,000 year old tomb, and today I am sitting at my desk, listening to the hail outside, and updating my blog. Next I will either go read a book or watch the BBC. Yawn.

So that’s why I haven’t filled anyone in on my travels, which were to Prague and Ireland by the way. I loved Prague but frankly didn’t care for Dublin, though I don’t have anything especially pithy and disparaging to say about it. It was just ugly and expensive.

And the future? Until mid-June I will be completely unscheduled, lazing about and then banging out a dissertation at what is likely to be the 11th hour. I am going to take up Exercise, Drink, and Writing Things That Aren’t Blogs (But Are Unlikely to be My Dissertation Either). I’m mostly kidding about the drink. Then I’m home in NY for a week and a half before moving to London for my summer placement.

Past the end of August my life is basically a Mystery. I will be moving to wherever the jobs are, kind of like those tramps from the Great Depression. Yay recession! Hopefully I will be able to afford to travel on the inside of trains. And hopefully the work that awaits me will not be agricultural.

Wahunsonacock wore WHAT?!?

The title of this entry is the title I wish I could give my first essay of grad school. Unfortunately in England, or perhaps just in the University of Leicester Department of Museum Studies, we have to title our essays with the question that was set. Thus my title will be: ‘Choose one object now in a museum. Describe, analyse and critically discuss the object’s biography and social life since its production.’

Somehow it just lacks snazz in comparison.

The object I’m doing is this little beauty, aka ‘Powhatan’s Mantle’, an object that is so exquisitely documented that it is referred to with quotation marks in half of the official literature. I saw it in the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford and became kind of obsessed with it, mostly because I’d never heard of it before and the way it’s presented in the museum is as if it’s 100% real, no doubt about it, Powhatan sooo totally wore this like OMG. I was originally doing an essay where I was grappling with the big questions like ‘What is material culture?’, but then I saw that I could do this and immediately reverted back to academic type. I get to write an essay about cabinets of curiosity and cultural imperialism and Jamestown. If only I could have worked Catch-22 in there somewhere (I admit, that would have been a long-shot) we might have hit all the essay g-spots.

I think it’s time for a new Nerdgasms banner. I’m sure I only think this because I need something else to do to procrastinate now that I’ve written this entry. Still, stay tuned. Or just come back in a month, which seems like a more efficient use of your time.

Edit: Or you could just look now, as apparently I felt compelled to change it immediately. It’s a bit dreary, but yay cabinets of curiosity!

“Make a sentence out of the following words: Face. Sodding. Your. Shut.”

Socially awkward though I may be I have (thus far, mostly, at least while sober) controlled my overwhelming desire to blurt out the first thought that springs to mind, no matter how offensive it is. So far I have caught myself in time to prevent the utterance of these gems:

1. “Wow, I used to be really obsessed with the ethnic conflict in your country!” (Points to anyone who can guess the country.)
2. (While discussing an article about repatriation of artefacts to indigenous groups.) “But that’s like Indian giving!”
3. More to follow as they come and I marvel over my glorious self-control.

Most of my social awkwardness has actually arisen out of not finding anything to say to people. I can’t make small-talk for long without disengaging. This is entirely my own fault, as I frankly just don’t care about what your dogs names are or which breakfast cereal you prefer. Then, once I’ve disengaged, it’s hard for me to pick up the part of the conversation where I’m supposed to be speaking because I have no idea what you’ve just said.I think the point of this entry is that I’m kind of an asshole. Sorry about that.

Two Exciting New Games For You All!

I write to you this Saturday morning from my dorm (hall/flat/whatever). It’s extremely nice, which surprised me very much. I’ve spent this past week participating in what may be the lamest student orientation in existence, though fortunately I got free lunch out of it. I come with two exciting new games for you, so be thrilled!

The first is called Predict When the Two 40 Year Old Indian Gentlemen With Whom You Share a Bathroom Are Going to be Showering. It’s not a very fun game, though it is suspenseful. I’m afraid you can’t play along at home but you’re most welcome to visit me and give it a go.

The second is called Real Englishman or Merely a Delightful Name I Made Up? Today’s contestants are:

1. Alfred James Hipkins
2. Edwin Horatio Fedarb
3. Wenceslaus Hollar
4. Sir Dingle Mackintosh Foot

No cheating! The answers will be posted soon. And I mean soon in the real sense, not soon as in “relative to the rest of this blog’s chronology.”

By the by, England is very much living up to the cliche of being cold and wet. All the time. If you love me, send tweed.

Wherein I Commit Internet Blasphemy

Now I know that this is a positively dreadful thing to do, but I am updating this blog… to point you in the direction of my other blog.

It’s newer! It’s shinier! It’s…well, newer about covers it really.

I made it so I could expound, at great length, on every 12th century stone I will trod on, every storied Victorian-era pub I will imbibe in, and every bureaucratic roadblock I will run into while I earn my MA in England. That is to say, it might veer tragically towards the narrative. It’s also so my mom can keep track of me, and to save me from the social faux-pas that would surely accompany any mass-emailing attempts. I would probably accidentally leave off far too many people, and would (again accidentally) include people whose dearest wish was to never hear from me again. Besides, emailing is far too much like keeping in touch and we all know that’s something I hardy do.

So now it’s up to them/you. I shirk emotional maturity and social responsibility; I blog, fool!

Oh right, the link: Flying (By the Seat of My Pants)

Things That Are Happening in the World

Despite my giant hiatus, I promised that this blog wasn’t dead. It’s not, it just seems I have very little to say.

So I will link you to other people saying things. I bring you the first edition of Things That Are Happening in the World:

1. Somewhere in the world, I am vomiting a little in my mouth. This is why. One the giant scale of awful, Kiddie Prom is only about 5 slots below Kiddie Porn.
2. Somewhere in the world, someone is finding this journal by Google-ing the last two words in the item above.
3. A quick perusal of BBC news indicates at least 3 floods (and one “more probable than it once was” flood), massive fires in Greece, an impending plague of locusts and one cosmic nothingness. I’m not even going to attempt to count the bombings.
4. Somewhere in the world people are waiting for the Second Coming. Somewhere in the world, still others are scratching their heads at this.
5. Somewhere in the world, my 86 year old Nana just got a mobile phone!
6. Right here and right now, I am going to bed. Actually, first I’m going to read a fashion magazine and then I’m going to bed.

Sorry this was such a boring entry kids. Maybe its  best if I don’t update when I don’t have anything to say…

Give me hot sauce on my taco…

I have been vaguely planning a month-long train journey from England to Morocco during my Easter break next year. Today I bought a guidebook as a sort of self-motivator. (Because if I can dream it, it does not necessarily follow that I will do it.) Here are some of the reactions my purchase received:

Mom: Morocco? You know what that makes me think of.

Me: Yea, your little Jewish-looking daughter wandering around all alone.

Mom: I was going to say Epcot.

————–

My Dad’s friend who is my age: You’re planning on going to Morocco?

Me: Yup.

Dad’s friend: Bring a gun!

People are so pleasant.

Major evangelical bonus points to anyone who can complete the title quote. If you can, know that this is not my reason for going to Morocco. At all. (It’s actually more of a Crosby, Stills & Nash inspired random whim.)

In which I bare my soul

Time to get in the sharing zone kids.

Dr. History has tagged me in some sort of “8 Facts” meme, and I lack the self control needed to resist the sweet siren song of exhibitionism. Here be the code, me hearties:

• Players start with 8 random facts about themselves.
• Those who are tagged should post these rules and their 8 random facts.
• Players should tag 8 other people and notify them they have been tagged.

1) I dyed my hair somewhat recently and people like myself, my mother, and my co-workers were unable to tell the difference. I visited some friends from college last weekend (who I haven’t seen since last October) and it was one of the first things they noticed. Weird.

2) My college computer (a Dell) was named Yossarian after the protagonist of my favorite novel, Catch-22. This was because he was stubborn and unwilling to submit to my authority. My current computer (a black MacBook…and a much better computer) is named Blackadder after the BBC series of the same name. He has not attempted regicide as of this writing.

3) One two recent-ish long-haul travels I have been seated next to some very interesting people. I will leave it to you to interpret what I mean by “interesting.” One was a man penning a treatise lovingly titled “Zionist Criminal Jew Chieftens in Latin America,” and the other was a man who spent the entire trip masturbating. I was very uncomfortable during both trips. (And so help me God no one had better find this blog by searching the title of that treatise. In fact, I just Googled it myself to see what comes up. Mostly articles from the Economist, if you’re curious.)

4) Back before I was an all-purpose nerd, a nerd-of-all-trades if you will, I was a poly-sci nerd. Before that I was a film nerd. I guess I still do specialize a bit in my nerdy-ness since I’m far more into history and culture than, say, genomes or string theory.

5) I knew I wanted to go to the College of William & Mary since I was 5 years old. Either I am excellent when it comes to long-term planning or very, very stubborn.

6) I am painfully honest. To the point of being blunt. I am also a very talented liar. If you ask me a question I can guarantee you a straight answer (and to earn my trust you must not ask me too many questions, since I prefer to play things rather close to the vest). However I sometimes lie about completely unimportant things just because I can, and if you abuse my honesty by asking too many prying questions I will certainly lie then.

7) I don’t remember birthdays, I’m atrocious at keeping in touch, I hate phone calls, and thoughtful little gestures just don’t occur to me. By the way, I have two X chromosomes.

8) The town I’m getting my MA in, Leicester, is apparently the curry capital of the UK. This means there had damned well better be some spicy food there, because I require copious amounts of spicy food.

I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a bit drained from all that sharing. I also don’t know 8, non-LJ blogosphere people to tag, which is perhaps one of those shameful things I should be a lot more hesitant to mention. So, for the two I do know, I tag Courtney and Sara. I guess I could tag my mom too, but she’s never realize it so it would be a waste.