Buon Viaggio
well, i'm off to Italy for 2 weeks, staying on an island about 1/4 mile long, 12 acres total, south of Venice. Much glassblowing, much heat, and hopefully much fun. I hope I don't run out of money...word on the canals is that Venezia is molto caro. Mom just asked me if I was going 'cold turkey' and leaving my computer at home (oh, and I do quote), and I guess that's about right. Back to the Old World, even if a modern version of it. Wish me luck!
If, on a winter's night a traveler outside the town of Malbork, leaning from a steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down into the gathering shadow...on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story there awaits its end? -italo calvino
Thursday, July 31, 2003
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
American Dream?
Go alone: crawl--stumble--stagger--but go alone." -Charles Rennie Mackintosh (Art Nouveau architect extraordinaire)
Gaudi and his buds are awesome; Mackintosh was a genius, to be sure...but is that really sound advice for anyone?
The whole narcissistic quality of individualism kind of scares me. I mean, being "different" or unique seems great and all, but let's be honest; it's not exactly plausible. Not everyone is a Mozart, however arrogant they might be. Not every tortured soul out there is a great artist. If everyone were, then nobody would stand out. I'm not saying that all of humankind is just a homogenized mass of mediocrity (although sometimes it may seem so), because I'd agree with most people that everyone has their own singularity about them; perhaps what really gets to me is the association of 'specialness' with celebrity. Being famous is another way of telling the world that you're different from everyone else who's *not* on tv, *not* in the papers, that you're special. And that kind of notoriety, merited or not, goes much farther than a nobody from the street/suburbs saying that they're exemplary. Grrr. Whenever I have to be evaluated by other people based on semi-arbitrary guidelines (helloooo grad school...), I get nervous.
I am also reminded (of course, as I am a child of pop culture), of one of the classics of our generation, Dead Poets' Society, in which Robin Williams's idealistic character defends the right of high schoolers to create, dream, and otherwise delude themselves with napoleonic dreams of grandeur, sounding their barbaric "yawps" to the world. But I suppose that learning to think for yourself isn't quite equatable with individuality, even though all the "carpe diem...make your lives extraordinary" shit comes quite close. I don't pretend to be so jaded as to side with the cynical administrator: "Show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams and I'll show you a happy man," but I firmly believe that out of context readings of Thoreau and Emerson can have quite a warping effect on one's world-view. Literature (and movies, for that matter) should inspire readers to be passionate, arouse some sort of heightened consciousness, and even allow modern cynics such as myself to escape for a little while in lovely words, but "that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse?" Isn't that just a little too trite?
Left without a solution in the end, as usual, but one more quote before I go: John Keating: "Sucking all the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone."
Back to the unfinished essay; why is it so hard to convey sarcasm in writing? Perhaps irony is best left out of grant proposals, as dear to my heart as it may be.
Gaudi and his buds are awesome; Mackintosh was a genius, to be sure...but is that really sound advice for anyone?
The whole narcissistic quality of individualism kind of scares me. I mean, being "different" or unique seems great and all, but let's be honest; it's not exactly plausible. Not everyone is a Mozart, however arrogant they might be. Not every tortured soul out there is a great artist. If everyone were, then nobody would stand out. I'm not saying that all of humankind is just a homogenized mass of mediocrity (although sometimes it may seem so), because I'd agree with most people that everyone has their own singularity about them; perhaps what really gets to me is the association of 'specialness' with celebrity. Being famous is another way of telling the world that you're different from everyone else who's *not* on tv, *not* in the papers, that you're special. And that kind of notoriety, merited or not, goes much farther than a nobody from the street/suburbs saying that they're exemplary. Grrr. Whenever I have to be evaluated by other people based on semi-arbitrary guidelines (helloooo grad school...), I get nervous.
I am also reminded (of course, as I am a child of pop culture), of one of the classics of our generation, Dead Poets' Society, in which Robin Williams's idealistic character defends the right of high schoolers to create, dream, and otherwise delude themselves with napoleonic dreams of grandeur, sounding their barbaric "yawps" to the world. But I suppose that learning to think for yourself isn't quite equatable with individuality, even though all the "carpe diem...make your lives extraordinary" shit comes quite close. I don't pretend to be so jaded as to side with the cynical administrator: "Show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams and I'll show you a happy man," but I firmly believe that out of context readings of Thoreau and Emerson can have quite a warping effect on one's world-view. Literature (and movies, for that matter) should inspire readers to be passionate, arouse some sort of heightened consciousness, and even allow modern cynics such as myself to escape for a little while in lovely words, but "that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse?" Isn't that just a little too trite?
Left without a solution in the end, as usual, but one more quote before I go: John Keating: "Sucking all the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone."
Back to the unfinished essay; why is it so hard to convey sarcasm in writing? Perhaps irony is best left out of grant proposals, as dear to my heart as it may be.
Saturday, July 26, 2003
Our Nation's Capital
What's that? Traveling on the East Coast again? Of course. Also necessitates the weekend in condensed form
Eight (why 8? because it's arbitrary) Reasons why Virginia is Cool, although it may *not* be for lovers
1. Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel: 3 bridges, 2 tunnels, 15+ miles of ocean driving
2. The Eastern Shore: unabashedly rural, salty, and gorgeous
3. Pat Robertson can pray for Supreme Court justices to die, and Va. Beach is still liberal enough to laugh at him for it
4. Institutions such as the VA Governor's Academy for Spanish still get funding
5. People think I'm 'Southern'
6. Vintage chic hasn't gotten this far yet, and one can still buy couches for under $20, and t-shirts for under a buck
7. There's a boutique in Dupont Circle that sells "Save Martha" shirts. I was almost forced to buy one
8. All the Smithsonian Museums are free
I had a fantastic time in D.C., leaving home late Thursday after Alex and I found a way to shove a loveseat, an entire dish set, three chairs, a lamp, and wineglasses from the Veterans' Thrift store into THE van while drizzling, me in miniskirt. We crossed the Bay at sundown, and thanks to my expert driving made it almost to Annapolis by 11:00 pm, many country songs later.
Once in the D.C. metropolitan area, I met up with an assortment of politically minded college students living/working/visiting the district in an impromptu Sweet Briar in Seville reunion. Sigh. Why is it that I have such a weakness for intelligent, self-deprecating sarcasm? Anyway, it was good to see people again, and I bonded over EMJ's experience at the Governor's school this summer. Apparently word on the mean streets of Staunton with regards to myself is "that girl can dance!" Ha. Now that's funny. I guess I can salsa with the best of white girls.
My ex-roommate and I tore up the town (or we just went to Ben and Jerry's in Georgetown) on Friday night, and saw the sights of Dupont/Adams Morgan today, which brought back many old memories of Alex living on Connecticut Ave, and lower school field trips to the museums. I like 'The District' even if it is crawling with Young Republicans at the moment. Great food.
Much in store for the next week or so, getting ready to traverse the Atlantic again, and trying to prepare for school. Seems like everyone and their brother is immersed in GRE/LSAT review that I feel like such a slacker, so I had better get cracking on the fellowship thing. Plus, in the midst of that, my faith in contemporary writing has been renewed, as have found another (shocking!) good book to read. Maybe literature isn't dead after all, even if American culture is sliding into decadence =).
What's that? Traveling on the East Coast again? Of course. Also necessitates the weekend in condensed form
Eight (why 8? because it's arbitrary) Reasons why Virginia is Cool, although it may *not* be for lovers
1. Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel: 3 bridges, 2 tunnels, 15+ miles of ocean driving
2. The Eastern Shore: unabashedly rural, salty, and gorgeous
3. Pat Robertson can pray for Supreme Court justices to die, and Va. Beach is still liberal enough to laugh at him for it
4. Institutions such as the VA Governor's Academy for Spanish still get funding
5. People think I'm 'Southern'
6. Vintage chic hasn't gotten this far yet, and one can still buy couches for under $20, and t-shirts for under a buck
7. There's a boutique in Dupont Circle that sells "Save Martha" shirts. I was almost forced to buy one
8. All the Smithsonian Museums are free
I had a fantastic time in D.C., leaving home late Thursday after Alex and I found a way to shove a loveseat, an entire dish set, three chairs, a lamp, and wineglasses from the Veterans' Thrift store into THE van while drizzling, me in miniskirt. We crossed the Bay at sundown, and thanks to my expert driving made it almost to Annapolis by 11:00 pm, many country songs later.
Once in the D.C. metropolitan area, I met up with an assortment of politically minded college students living/working/visiting the district in an impromptu Sweet Briar in Seville reunion. Sigh. Why is it that I have such a weakness for intelligent, self-deprecating sarcasm? Anyway, it was good to see people again, and I bonded over EMJ's experience at the Governor's school this summer. Apparently word on the mean streets of Staunton with regards to myself is "that girl can dance!" Ha. Now that's funny. I guess I can salsa with the best of white girls.
My ex-roommate and I tore up the town (or we just went to Ben and Jerry's in Georgetown) on Friday night, and saw the sights of Dupont/Adams Morgan today, which brought back many old memories of Alex living on Connecticut Ave, and lower school field trips to the museums. I like 'The District' even if it is crawling with Young Republicans at the moment. Great food.
Much in store for the next week or so, getting ready to traverse the Atlantic again, and trying to prepare for school. Seems like everyone and their brother is immersed in GRE/LSAT review that I feel like such a slacker, so I had better get cracking on the fellowship thing. Plus, in the midst of that, my faith in contemporary writing has been renewed, as have found another (shocking!) good book to read. Maybe literature isn't dead after all, even if American culture is sliding into decadence =).
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
Not Yet One and Twenty
Aah, Austen. My sister and I have just finished the annual viewing of the Pride and Prejudice minseries, and I wish that like Miss Bennet, I could refer to myself as "not yet one and twenty" instead of telling people all the time that no, I am indeed not twenty one yet. It's some sort of sick ritual, this fully interactive movie watching. I still yell at Mr. Darcy in the first two scenes, and every time that their mother speaks, pillows on the couch get punched, squeezed; the trip to Pemberly is always a surprise, and the ending deliciously drawn out and repressed. I remember the very first time I watched it, the summer after 10th grade, after a sleepover at a soccer friend's house when we started the first tape at noon, after brunch, and stayed glued to the couch until the sun had set. Everyone seemed so much older then, so much more mature and worldly. After reading the book several times, it's still hard to believe that now I, like Elizabeth, am not yet one and twenty. I suppose that everything was distorted back then, as far as ages goes, and social norms for that matter. The fact that a girl living alone with her boyfriend could cause irreprable ruin to an entire family's social status seems laughable now, making the timelessness of the whole Mr. Darcy/Miss Bennet thing that much more impressive. True, as far as the A&E thing goes, a lot of the appeal has to do with Colin Firth himself, and the lovely Jennifer Ehle.
I've now indulged my more girly tendencies (which I'm not *always* ashamed to own up to), and now have a date with the Dremmel to work on the car. Sparks will fly. Literally. Doesn't it say somewhere that girls who can operate power tools are cool? I sure as hell hope so.
Mmm, snacks of fresh cherry tomatoes from the garden; it really must be summer =).
I've now indulged my more girly tendencies (which I'm not *always* ashamed to own up to), and now have a date with the Dremmel to work on the car. Sparks will fly. Literally. Doesn't it say somewhere that girls who can operate power tools are cool? I sure as hell hope so.
Mmm, snacks of fresh cherry tomatoes from the garden; it really must be summer =).
Monday, July 21, 2003
Death to Technology...
Well, I fought a losing battle against the cable internet company/computer for almost a week, and I'm finally back with a functioning connection. Why can't things behave logically when you want them to? Thoroughly frustrated with life and modems, I had to get out of the house. It was a good thing that my dad needed a ride to the airport this afternoon, because instead of subjecting myself to the seemingly inevitable traffic on 64, I took the long way through the azalea gardens and drove over the bay down Shore Drive, windows down with the afternoon sun coming gently through the trees as my favorite radio station cranked out one great song after another. I really shouldn't be quite so tied to things involving the internet, but it's sooo tempting when it's just sitting there in the next room.
I also should be a little less eager to hurt the computer when it does nasty things. I was definitely throwing books at it in the past few days, consciously aware that me assaulting the monitor with reading material would in no way improve the functioning of the hard drive, but it did wonders for my frustration.
Instead, I retreat to the kitchen and bake. My angelfood cake was slightly deflated due to lack of egg whites, but at least it took my mind off of mom bitching at me for having "broken" the computer. It has also come to my attention that I was less than comprehensive in my last cookie-mailing so i'm going to have to remedy that tonight perhaps.
"The Restaurant" was slightly dissappointing for several reasons: chef Rocco already has two rather successful Manhattan dining establishments, so the whole drama of starting something new loses a lot of authenticity right off the bat; secondly, it seems to be more about the drama between the waitstaff rather than the acutal cooking, so that stinks; thirdly, Rocco is a whining little child, even if he can cook. I'm so tired of celebrity chefs; why's it always gotta be about showmanship? Alas. Off for a run, I suppose, and a little "me" time.
Well, I fought a losing battle against the cable internet company/computer for almost a week, and I'm finally back with a functioning connection. Why can't things behave logically when you want them to? Thoroughly frustrated with life and modems, I had to get out of the house. It was a good thing that my dad needed a ride to the airport this afternoon, because instead of subjecting myself to the seemingly inevitable traffic on 64, I took the long way through the azalea gardens and drove over the bay down Shore Drive, windows down with the afternoon sun coming gently through the trees as my favorite radio station cranked out one great song after another. I really shouldn't be quite so tied to things involving the internet, but it's sooo tempting when it's just sitting there in the next room.
I also should be a little less eager to hurt the computer when it does nasty things. I was definitely throwing books at it in the past few days, consciously aware that me assaulting the monitor with reading material would in no way improve the functioning of the hard drive, but it did wonders for my frustration.
Instead, I retreat to the kitchen and bake. My angelfood cake was slightly deflated due to lack of egg whites, but at least it took my mind off of mom bitching at me for having "broken" the computer. It has also come to my attention that I was less than comprehensive in my last cookie-mailing so i'm going to have to remedy that tonight perhaps.
"The Restaurant" was slightly dissappointing for several reasons: chef Rocco already has two rather successful Manhattan dining establishments, so the whole drama of starting something new loses a lot of authenticity right off the bat; secondly, it seems to be more about the drama between the waitstaff rather than the acutal cooking, so that stinks; thirdly, Rocco is a whining little child, even if he can cook. I'm so tired of celebrity chefs; why's it always gotta be about showmanship? Alas. Off for a run, I suppose, and a little "me" time.
Sunday, July 20, 2003
it's been a great weekend; one of those times when I realize that summertime in Virginia Beach is fun. Driving back from our old haunt on 72nd street with an old highschool friend that i hadn't seen in over a year, hair salty from the ocean, still sleepy from my nap on the sand, listening to bad Justin Timberlake hip-hop in the car (and loving it) it felt like a real summer day. Like those days that make you forget about whatever else in the world may be going on, and enjoy good food, family, and friends.
I also cooked rockfish last night; I'm talking a 5.5 lb. beauty straight from the bay, fins tails and all, right on the grill. I love Chesapeake seafood, a cold glass of pinot grigio, and fresh homemade bread. Does it get much better than that? I'm not sure that it does. On top of all of that (in addition to the tomato burre blanc sauce), mom treated Christine and me to a repeat viewing of Pirates of the Caribbean. So much fun, yet again.
It's also summer thunderstorm season, which, while it's quite an adrenaline rush, and super fun at night, wreaked havoc on my automotive restoration endeavors. The damn hood rusted where I'd been sanding, so that puts me back at least another day on the flaming minivan. Damn shame.
The new reality TV show "Restaurant" starts up tonight, and for as much as I hate those manufactured fake attempts at "real life" I'm going to be suckered in to at least the first episode of 'behind the scenes' at a real professional kitchen. I've also been suckered into using too many quotation marks. Maybe I'll be able to justify the show as being research for the Watson, but I feel as though that's a bit far-fetched.
Well, back to entertaining my guest, and family bonding 'round the glowing television set. Who'd have thought that the Tour de France would have captivated my family so?
I also cooked rockfish last night; I'm talking a 5.5 lb. beauty straight from the bay, fins tails and all, right on the grill. I love Chesapeake seafood, a cold glass of pinot grigio, and fresh homemade bread. Does it get much better than that? I'm not sure that it does. On top of all of that (in addition to the tomato burre blanc sauce), mom treated Christine and me to a repeat viewing of Pirates of the Caribbean. So much fun, yet again.
It's also summer thunderstorm season, which, while it's quite an adrenaline rush, and super fun at night, wreaked havoc on my automotive restoration endeavors. The damn hood rusted where I'd been sanding, so that puts me back at least another day on the flaming minivan. Damn shame.
The new reality TV show "Restaurant" starts up tonight, and for as much as I hate those manufactured fake attempts at "real life" I'm going to be suckered in to at least the first episode of 'behind the scenes' at a real professional kitchen. I've also been suckered into using too many quotation marks. Maybe I'll be able to justify the show as being research for the Watson, but I feel as though that's a bit far-fetched.
Well, back to entertaining my guest, and family bonding 'round the glowing television set. Who'd have thought that the Tour de France would have captivated my family so?
Thursday, July 17, 2003
Grr on old computers. My family has an ancient gateway that is waaay tempramental, and I think that it officially pooped out this morning. Bit the big one, won't even start up. It's like watching a small animal die. I expected sparks or something. Anyway, that's frustrating, but whatever. In the meantime, the sander comes out of the garage, and work on the minivan begins.
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