What's in Your Headphones?

Sometimes I look at people, strangers, really, and wonder who they are. The most common thought I have is "if I could listen to the headphones in their ears, what music would I hear?". It's so easy to judge a person by what their wearing.

She's wearing Ugg boots, so she must being listening to something like Ke$ha.


His pants are half-way down his ass, so he's bobbing his head to Usher.

Or even,

She's black, so she must listen to hip hop and r&b.

We find a certain comfort in stereotypes. To some extent, they're a necessary evil. They allow us to size up strangers before we know them, letting us decide if we'd get along without speaking. I will not lie to you and say stereotypes have no sway in my life. I am guilty of judging the girl in the Ugg boots or the boy with the sideways baseball cap. I let it stop me from approaching you, believing, without proof, that we won't get along simply by the way we dress.

But if you were to look at me, in my Northface jacket and ridiculously long scarf, what music do you think would be in my headphones? Would you imagine that I listen to the most absurdly random mix of artists from around the world? Would you think that I would follow up a song by Paramore with a German a capella metal group and a solo violinist? Or, more realistically, would you think because of my Northface coat that I must be listening to Plain White T's and Reliant K?

Last night, the girls next door to me played songs so vastly different from the last I couldn't help but smile. Starting with Jesse's Girl, they proceeded with Far East Movement and Shakira. At the sound of Jessie's Girl, I thought we'd get along. But with the next two bands, the girls' mere existence began to annoy me. How can you follow up a 1981 classic with such mainstream, superficial music of today? How can you jump eras of music like that?

Yet, I should be appreciating the fact that they indulge in such diversity in their sound. If I had only heard Far East Movement and Shakira, I would have written them off as a stereotype I disliked in a heartbeat. Just as no one would guess the mix in my headphones, I never would have guessed that they liked Jessie's Girl.

Stereotypes are a necessary evil. We seek comfort from putting people in neat little boxes and only interacting with someone in the same box as us. Yet these boxes stop us from branching out; they restrict us to the same kind of music.

Tell me, if a stranger were to look at you, what music would they believe is in your headphones based on what you wear?

Wander safely,
Arc.

Snow is NOT Okay.

I was born and raised in New England my whole life. It really is a pretty area; spring is green, summer is gorgeous, fall is full of multicolored leaves, and winter....WINTER SUCKS.

I HATE the cold. It's so...COLD. I don't like how it feels against my cheeks, I don't like how it freezes my nose, makes my ears want to fall off, hurts my fingers, etc. I'm a very bitter New Englander.

This year, more than most, has had me in quite a sour mood. We just had our fourth snow storm in a month, and we are about to receive our fifth. FIFTH. Snow storm. In a MONTH. My town has called three snow days in the last two weeks (not that it really applies to a college student). I don't understand why we need all this frozen white stuff to fall from the sky and make the earth all dead inside. I mean, other parts of the world survive without it, so why must we indulge it?

I didn't always hate snow. I loved it when I was little. Back when Fratello and Pater did all the shoveling, and snow days meant going sledding in the park. Now...I guess it's lost its charm.

Well, I know sledding lost it's charm after I did a face-plant into the ground, nearly losing a tooth and breaking my nose.

I guess, too, I never really took to snow in normal ways when I was younger, either. I never really had a snowball fight (or at least, not a fair one; Fratello never fought fair) or built a snowman. I've made forts, but that's about it.

Snow is beautiful to look at, and I will admit that going for a walk at two in the morning when the streets aren't plowed and snow is still falling from the sky is absolutely beautiful. Nothing could ever compare to that. Snow, too, is can be lovely when I've got a good book, a cup of tea, and I'm curled up in front a fire.

I love this image of my neighborhood after the last storm; pristine, quiet, beautiful...It doesn't change the sentiment that I hate snow.

I think everything changed when I became a vegetarian. I didn't do it the smart way, and I know I wasn't getting enough iron (I still don't). I had to go back to meat because of this, and every since, I've had an issue with cold. I mean, I sleep with two quilts, a blanket, two pairs of socks, long pants, a long sleeve shirt, and a sweatshirt, yet I still don't get warm. It doesn't make any sense; I used to run around in bathing suits in the middle of January when I was little and be fine! However, Mater has pointed out that my room, for some unknown reason, is colder than any other room in the house. This might explain why I bundle up and freeze.

I guess it's more realistic to say that I hate the cold more than the snow. Sadly, this makes snow guilty by association.

Point of this ramble: I only approve of snow for so long. Then I start hunting for the fast forward button into spring. Spring is warm :)

Wander safely,
Arc.

Time Management: Come Again?

New Year’s Resolutions: a time of reflection, to better yourself, to change what you don’t like...A time to make many claims you won’t follow through with.

I never got the point of New Year’s Resolutions. Why wait for January first to change something about yourself? Is it supposed to make it a more credible change or something? I bet you won’t be surprised to know that more gym memberships are made in January than any other month of the year.

I don’t save my resolutions for New Year’s. I don’t believe it has special powers, or will make me a better person. I make me a better person any day of the year. On this particular day, I think I need better time management, especially with a new semester approaching fast.

I’m a horrible, horrible procrastinator. I write papers due at ten am at two am, or sometimes even two hours before class. I once spent nine hours in front of a computer the day before a massive research paper was due because I hadn’t started it yet. I think I made Mater fear for my sanity that day; we’d be sitting in a silent room, both of us working away, and all of a sudden I’d scream at the top of my lungs and slam my head into the desk. It happened many times.

My poor time management is not a new thing. When a teacher says, “This isn’t an assignment you can do in one night”, I think; Challenge accepted. Bring it on. While this mindset makes it incredibly impressive when you get your project back with an A-, and you can state proudly, “I did all of this the night before”, it’s really not fun. It’s nerve-racking, painful, and exhausting. It only gets worse in college. 

So, with this lovely BOW’11 challenge, I am attempting to manage my time. At least this way, I can do it with something. For example, it is currently January third at 8:43 pm. It was originally going to be posted on the tenth, but I felt like posting something funny (see that last pretty post down there?). LOOK AT ME BE PRODUCTIVE!

...Yeah, productivity isn’t a strong point of mine, either. Sure, I could write my term paper, or I could read fanfiction. I could read the required chapters for English, or I could crochet a hat. I could do my Italian homework, or I could knit. You see where this is going.

Scratch that; I am productive. I make a lot of hats, scarves, and hand warmers. I teach people how to knit, crochet, and I maintain a job. I’m just really, really bad about my homework.


The highlight of my first semester at college? I crocheted EIGHTEEN HATS.

Wander safely,

Arc.

Angry Post is Angry

Can I PLEASE kill my university? That's such a positive way to start. But really, can I?

I know they've got a lot of paperwork to do. I know they've got a lot of students. I know they can't cater to my every need single need. But really, is a SIMPLE ROOM ASSIGNMENT TOO MUCH TO ASK?!

I attend a college with several campuses. One of the campuses is in the big city, which I attended last semester. Upon realizing city life isn't for me, I switched to a more suburban campus. Here's where things get tricky.

• I put in the request to change campuses in November, around the 14th. 

• They replied by the 18th that they had housing for me. So far so good.

• I did not hear where I was rooming (who who I was rooming WITH) until JANUARY 6TH. After I went TO THE CAMPUS and bullied it out of them.

• NOW, I've gotten a hold of the girl that will be my roommate, only to find out she's NOT STAYING AT THE SUBURBAN CAMPUS. She's at the city campus.

WHAT. THE. HEY.

This is not alright. This is BEYOND unacceptable. This school charges people a little more than $50,000 A YEAR. I do NOT pay this much to be JERKED AROUND. I wonder if the room assignment they've given me is really my room. What if I show up on the move in day and find out I don't actually have a room? I'M NOT OKAY WITH THIS.


ASDFJKL,
Arc.


P.S. Yes, I realize this breaks the rules of BOW'11. Not that this is turning into BTW'11 or anything, but I think this slight infraction will be forgiven.

Oh, The Places We Will Go...

Mater* and I can never take a trip together without nearly dying of laughter. That or crashing the car due to said laughter. Mostly, I think it’s due to communication issues, or  maybe we just find anything nearly-die-of-laughter-regardless-of-how-stupid funny.

Esempio Uno*:

Mater and I are driving home at night. She's in the middle of telling me about something that happened during her day. She's not paying much attention to the road, or the possum that has just wandered into it.

Me: Possum.

Mater: *doesn't notice and keeps talking*

Me: POSSUM.

Mater: *Still doesn't notice, still talking*

Me: POSSUM POSSUM POSSUM POSSUM POSSUM POSSUM POSSUM POSSUM!!!!!!

Mater: *getting exasperated* What the hell. If you don't want to hear my story-

Me: YOU'RE GOING TO HIT THE POSSUM!!!!!

In my defense, shouting "POSSUM!!!" made perfect sense. If I shouted "JOHNNY DEPP!", wouldn't you immediately start looking for Johnny Depp?

Esempio Due*:

Mater doesn't slow down for animals (as probably shown above). She is a large believer in natural selection; if it's smart, it'll move. For her credit, she's never hit an animal, but that doesn't stop my or Sorella's* adamant demands to slow down for them. 

On a trip into NYC to pick up my things from my dorm, I tell her to slow down for a pigeon.

Mater: Don't worry, it'll move.

Me: No, it won't! I stepped on a dead one the other day.

Mater: Well, of COURSE it didn't move! It was DEAD.

Me: EXACTLY!!

Mater: Listen to yourself, YOU'RE A COLLEGE STUDENT.

Me: What do you mean, listen to myself, it didn't move, so it DIED!

Mater: OH!

When I provided that I stepped on a dead pigeon, she assumed I thought that even though it was dead, it would have moved. I, on the other hand, was proving that they don't always move, seeing as I found a dead one.

Esempio Trè*:

We're bad with directions. We make one mistake headed somewhere ONCE, and from that point on, we make the same mistake EVERY TIME. Mistakes are just so comforting. We found this incredibly funny during our trip to Pleasantville on Three Kings Day. 


Me: Where are we going?
Mater: To the diner.
Me: But isn't the diner back there...?
Mater: Of course it is. But this is the way we go: we amble through town, pass the diner, go into the parking lot on the side street, come out the other side, and park by the diner.
Me: ...That is what we always do, isn't it?


While we were dying of laughter about this, Sorella was freaking out in the back seat because we weren't paying attention to the road. Intelligence: WE HAS IT.


Similarly, we ALWAYS make a wrong turn when we go up to Cambridge. Because of this, we end up lost in the MIT campus, wandering around aimlessly until we find our way back to the main road and continue up to Cambridge. She and my Pater* made this mistake the first time about eleven years ago and hence, we've made it ever since.

Moral of the stories? Pay attention to the road, no matter how ridiculously funny it can be.


Wander safely,

Arc.

*Check the oh-so-fancy new tabs up there :D

How I Failed NaNoWriMo

I was supposed to do NaNoWriMo this November, again on the behalf of dear Whimsy. I only managed about 300 words before the project crumbled. I love to make up stories, but putting it down on paper seems almost like a chore. Because of this, most of my work stays in my head. However, I was quite proud of the storyline that I had created for NaNo. Since it’s probably never going to get written down in any form, I figured I could share it with you.

The story was going to be told through letters. In the beginning, the corespondents are only knows as S and K. For reasons unknown, K ran away from home. S puts a lot of effort into his letters, informing K of just about everything going in his life, while K’s letters are short and ill-informing. My intent from the start was to make S a much more developed character than K for reasons to be later explained.

As the story continues, you learn that S’s name is Seamus and K stands for Kristie. Her letters slowly become more developed, explaining how something is chasing her and she’s trying to get away. It becomes apparent that Kristie is running from something big and incredibly dangerous. Her letters are haggard, rough, and enigmatic.

Seamus tells Kristie he isn’t getting along with his parents because they want him to start taking his medication again. He complains that they deaden his mind. While Kristie tells him to do what’s right for him and not take the pills, he caves to please his parents and takes them anyways. Simultaneously, Kristie’s letters become shorter and more panicked. We discover that she’s running from an obsessive stalker named Donovan, who had developed the “if I can’t have her, no one can” mentality, and he’s catching up with her, fast. The story hits the climax with a desperate letter from Kristie about how she thinks the only way she can escape Donovan is to kill herself.

The last chapter was supposed to be a doctor’s assessment of Seamus, who was rushed to the hospital for slitting his wrists. He was diagnosed as a schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder several years ago. Originally, the doctors thought that if he saw a shrink twice a week and was carefully monitored with his medication, he could carry on a normal life. His file shows that he has several personalities in him, but the most prominent personality is a female named Kristie. An attached file from Seamus’s shrink documented how Kristie frequently complained of a voice in her head she called Donovan, who constantly told her he loved her and no one else could have her. Kristie found it therapeutic to write letters to a made up pen-pal, a boy she named Seamus. The more she wrote to Seamus, the more intense Donovan’s voice became until she could no longer stand it. The doctor’s note ends with a comment that if Seamus should take his pills consistently, both Kristie and Luther will disappear permanently.

I was incredibly proud of this story line, and a little disappointed it may never get down on paper. Maybe it will one day, you never know. 

Please don’t steal my plot.

Wander safely,

Arc.