Collections I

When my mom was growing up, her mom gave away or threw out or sold some of her things when she wasn't there and without asking. Nothing major - i think it was paper dolls or barbies or something. This experience so traumatized her that, in spite of our many moves and pack rat instincts, she generally refused to throw anything away for us. She would plead and bribe, of course, but we would have to throw things away ourselves. This has led to some rather absurd but sometimes really cool collections over the years which we blame on our Dutch heritage. I mention just a couple here, to leave room for further posts. The first collection i remember having myself was of candy wrappers. Any candy wrappers, although i was sensible enough to see the folly in saving any that still had sweet residue left on them. I had visions of making a beautiful doll dress with these wrappers, and then talking mom (who can hem, and that's about it) into making the dress on a larger scale for me. In the end all i got was a couple of drawers full of brightly coloured candy wrappers, which were eventually emptied into the dumpster with much heartburn. I must confess that i am still susceptible to Winnie the Pooh candy wrappers - i once got a large chocolate Pooh, and i still have the wrapper pinned to my bulletin board. It's cute. Really! My eldest brother collects bits of string and very short pencils. That's very Boy Scout-ish of him, don't you think? He hates to wear any thing that doesn't have at least four very large pockets, which he keeps the choicest bits of string and the longest short pencils (as well as a couple of pens, a book to read, a notebook, a couple of knives, and i don't know what else). As far as i know these have never actually come in handy, though he swears they do. I think my youngest brother is the most practical. I'm not sure exactly what you call it, but he collects these miniature war toy thingies, that you use to play some silly game, and plans on selling them later for more money. He did that with the Star Wars miniatures, too (the one's they've stopped making because stupid people think they are edible). Dad collects war games. He used to belong to a group of guys that would get together and play them, and i think the idea was that us kids would grow up and play them as well. Unfortunately, only the youngest has the head for that sort of think (i tried, but for some reason, moving the troops to the squares where they look the prettiest doesn't seem to be a winning strategy). So he just collects them and right now they are all sitting in our old entertainment center, looking rather pathetic and alone. Mom collects plastic tubs, to store all of our junk in. Oh, and straitjackets.

One of these days...

I'm going to give that jogging coach person an honest answer when he asks me, "So, how'd it go today?" So far i've contented myself with simply lifting my hands in exasperation and focusing on the positive, such as "I'm still breathing." Envisualizing this situation is the one of the ways i try to stay focused. My favourite responses so far... "I can imagine few forms of exercise as agonizing, as humiliating, and as pointless as jogging." "Why do you ask that question? How can any activity known by such an unpleasant name as 'jogging' ever have gone well?" "Look at me. I'm limping. I'm gasping for breath. My face is flushed. I believe my expression must reflect at least a portion of my nausea and my absolute loathing of this activity. There are few circumstances where i would consider this state of being to be positive, although it is probable that your ideas of good are considerably different than mine." "I have no pretense or desire towards athleticism. I have always disliked running. In fact, for the last five years i have been unable to run. However, i now no longer dislike running. I loathe and despise and detest and am revolted at the thought of running." "I suspect that your motivation in asking that question is similar to the motivation of those who pull the legs off spiders. Please, i beg of you, allow me to wallow in my disgrace on my own - truly, i require no assistance." "&^$~%+#!!!!"

Nacirema

(This is for my sociology class, based on this article by Horace Miner.) This study is merely a natural continuation of Mr. Miner’s excellent and groundbreaking piece on the Nacirema culture. I myself have observed the Nacirema, and I have found that his work is accurate in every respect. In addition to their unnatural obsession and dissatisfaction with the human body, they are also infatuated with all things new. In most societies and throughout history, the word “traditional” is used in a positive sense. It denotes trust and dependability, safety and stability. However, the Nacirema have almost completely rejected this meaning of the word. They react to the label “traditional” in the same way a skittish horse reacts to laundry hung on a line – it is suspicious and probably dangerous. Those Nacirema who sell and market food know this, and take advantage of it to an absurd extent. It is not even necessary that the food actually be different, although that is definitely a common selling point; merely, the food must look new (shape, size, and/or colouring). It is not at all exceptional to see a package labeled “New Look, Same Great Taste!” These “New Looks” are purported to be more economical, environmental, or fun. For instance, a favourite sauce of the Nacirema – supposedly derived from tomatoes – is generally red. One of the primary purveyors of this sauce marketed it in the colours of green and purple, and it sold well. Margarine companies also will occasionally release “new” exciting colours such as pink or blue. Of course, food vendors are not the only Nacirema to recognize this – most other marketable businesses also make use of this fact. Those who retail technology (yet another Nacirema fascination – that plethora of paradoxical devices which allow the Nacirema to remain isolated from any intimate contact with another human, yet anonymously connected to millions) are always releasing something new. “Bigger, Better, Faster!” seems to be their mantra. Also those who sell the charms placed in the household shrine, and those who sell furniture, and soaps, and laundry baskets, and apparel – in fact, to the Nacirema mind, it is possible and desirable for anything and everything to be “New and Improved!” This is also seen in the way they dress. While it is usual in other cultures to wear the same clothes three days in a row, the Nacirema find the idea of wearing anything other than a coat more than one day in a row to be completely repellant. A person coming into work wearing the same clothes worn the day before, or even two days before, is mocked. For the Nacirema celebrities, it is a tragedy to be seen at an event in the same clothes as another person and even worse to be seen in the same outfit twice. This is especially true of Nacirema women – it is considered uncouth to always wear one’s hair in the same style, and to have less than six pairs of shoes. Even in their temples – the latipsos – tradition is most decidedly not a virtue. The Nacirema are always on the lookout for the newest procedures and up-to-date techniques and most modern facilities. They will often switch temples if they find one to be newer than another. If their treatment is so new that it is all but untested and incredibly risky, the Nacirema are that much happier, for they have almost complete trust in their latipso and believe that the newer must be better. This is, in fact, true of all their religious systems. The churches of the Nacirema are continually writing new creeds, redecorating their buildings, and searching for younger worship leaders. One of the most popular holy books – the Bible – has been translated innumerable times and there are uncountable versions of it, with more coming out every year, each claiming something new has been uncovered, clarified, or fixed from the previous versions. The Nacirema also reveal this fixation on the new in their educational system. Events that occurred within the living memory of teenagers are covered extensively in history lessons, while culturally defining events from a century ago receive little more than a paragraph. To receive college or university degrees, it is often a requirement that the student have new studies and provide original research. Nacirema educationists firmly believe that filling their places of learning with the latest and greatest technology, with exciting new methods, and with innovative presentations of ideas will speed up the intellectual development of their youth, despite continued evidence to the contrary. Indeed, it has come to the point that the concept of “evidence”, being traditional, is scorned in favor of more immediate appeals. With Mr. Miner, I must confess surprise that this society, with its rejection of anything that could be called old, has survived as long as it has. It is a culture of constant struggle, with “the future” held out before it as a mirage to a man dying of thirst. Until the Nacirema learn to look to the past, they will never be able to face the future.

Singing With My Brother But No Shoes

He has agreed to sing in the church choir with me. Very forbearing of him. The poor child is going bald already - i expect it's all my fault. The other singers said they knew immediately who he was - he wasn't wearing shoes (is it really illegal to drive without shoes? that doesn't make any sense... therefore it must be true, i suppose). Although, unfortunately for him, he does rather resemble me (except that the little brat managed to grow taller than me! it simply isn't fair). And of course, since he can actually sing (i swear i was bragging about him like a proud momma or something; it was bizarre, i almost couldn't stop myself: "Oh, he sings bass. He was in a barbershop quintet last year. And he plays brass - baritone, tuba, and trumpet. Plus piano and organ, a little. Unlike me, he can talk in coherent sentences and count past ten. Just brilliant.") they're grateful for him. I was so glad to be back. It's such an amazing group dynamic - people who are or have taught singing, english, elocution, and intruments, plus people who are there jsut because they like to sing, mostly a decade or two older than me... Most of them have known eachother for years and are always making fun of each other, and while people don't seem to mind being personally insulted i am glad we have such a tactful conductor - those musical discussions can get pretty heated. It is so different to sing with a group of people who are brought together because they are not only passionate but educated about music, versus a high school choir which is all about the grade. I love it. Even more, i love being able to share this experience with my brother. Life is wonderful, sometimes, isn't it?

chronicles of humiliation (i.e. school)

So, let's see... Don't tell my parents, but now that it's my car, and my gas... I slow down for speed bumps, stop at stop signs, turn the car off as soon as i park instead of finishing the song, i don't speed (as much)... My first class is an intro to computer course - what's a CPU, how to use excel, basic programming stuff. Vaguely interesting. Actually, i would probably be bored out of my mind except for the fact that the prof reads from The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis, which i think is sooo cool. How many people would connect a fifteenth century monk with modern technology? Next is world literature. So far, nothing i haven't heard before. Art. The idea of growing up to be a painter has appealed to me from a young age. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), i have never learned to paint. I can sketch a little, but that is all. Not that this matters, since our first assignment is to draw on a banana. Because it is unconventional, and nothing in this world is worthwhile unless it be nontraditional or unconventional. Another way to be unconventional is to not comb your hair, roll up your pants, and get a tattoo. Or you could cut up random pieces of paper (magazines, cartoons, etc), take black and white photos of them, and then let the roll of film soak for a little while before developing. Or you could interpose shots of slavery and the holocaust with that of cute monkeys and bullfights, since obviously owning a pet is the same thing as genocide. This is also known as art. My most humiliating class is jogging. What kind of word is that, anyway? It always reminds me of hogs, from that nursery rhyme about the farmer coming home again. Why would anyone want to jog? I can walk much faster than i can jog. As a matter of fact, so could a turtle. I have now progressed so that i can run two whole laps without stopping. Are you not incredibly impressed? And i can run one and onehalf more before my legs fall off and i get sick. Yeah for regular exercise!! At least my example must be and incredible encouragement to the rest of the class.

First Day

I have internet!!! Wireless, even. One would think that after fourteen years of going to school, the First Day would lose most of its anticipation and agony. Well, perhaps it has lost some, but i still get an adrenaline rush from it. Actually, i suppose most people don't get an adrenaline rush from school. However, for me, the fear of large groups of people, and of getting lost, and of being late (heightened because of the messed up schedule for Convocation) is quite enough. Needless to say i am not exactly athletic (although i do need three PE credits to graduate - how sucky is that? - so i'm taking jogging this semester). Well, and my brother decided to attend the same school as i, so that's kinda nice. I took him and his roommate to a $3.50 movie this evening (Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull - rather Indy meets X-files, but it's cute). It's so weird being a responsible adult (or even a reasonable facsimile thereof). I do have my own room this year - blue walls ( i'm so sick of white), a proper closet (though, of course, nothing can beat a wardrobe), and three windows. It's an older house, with delightfully creaky stairs, odd corners, and comfortably ugly carpeting. It makes rather a nice change from military housing and cookie cutter development projects. I'm renting it from a lady whose kids are all out of the house at the moment, but she has a gorgeous fluffy cat that already seems awfully fond of sleeping on my stomache, and her eldest son (who lives not ten minutes away) has the most gorgeous dog - some type of husky, i think.

Fleeting Days of Summer

Or is it Fleeing? I've got less than a week left of my internship. It wasn't really at all what i expected (surprise, surprise! i often do try to live life without any expectations at all, but i've found that it falls flat. here's to being wrong!). As far as the logistics of running an archive, and helping people with research, i'm really no further than i was before. However, i've learned a bit about running a business, and the types of relationships that exist between bosses and employees. An academic library doesn't need to make money. A historic park does. This means that the organization and hierarchy of the staff is much more important. It means that the work done is not only "for posterity" but must have some (relatively) immediate purpose and value. It means that we can't just apply for another grant or scholarship, but must make do with what we have and must concentrate out efforts on that which will have the greatest public interests. GSRing has also been (much as i am loathe to admit it) a good experience for me. This may sound strange, but it is the first instance in which i have been able to relate to people as an adult - an equal. In the park offices i am an intern; at Sunday School and in choir i am the youngest by two decades; when living with my parents i am the Pastor's Daughter; at school i am a student. Of course there are always "peers" but that's not quite the same thing. I expect i shall tire of it soon - there are definite advantages to being young and ignorant. The new people being trained put this feeling into sharp relief - both elderly, and rather slow (dunno if it's fear of computers or what) - and i became a voice of experience (by some strange coincidence, i also saw buttercups buzzing after bees). I also learnt that i find 18th-20th century history rather prosaic. People would exclaim at how old an 18th century artifact was, and all i could think was "Wow, that's only a couple hundred years old!" Or they would be looking at a photograph from the late 19th century, and while i was exclaiming over what a recent process photography was, they would be like "Dude! it's in black and white!" It's just... American colonialism has nothing on European Medievalsim, i'm sorry.