I really do suck at blog writing these days. But I kid you not, nothing worth writing about has really taken place for quite some time.
Tomorrow my last semester (I swear this time it's true, I even filed my intent to graduate!) begins and I'm just in the weirdest mood. It doesn't feel like I should be going back to George Mason. I sort of became familiarized with this 'keep on moving' lifestyle I developed over the summer so it's really going to be weird to be at Mason during the day just hanging out waiting for my next class to start.
When you begin your career as a student in a university you're so young. 18! 18 and we're expected to decide what we want to study that will direct us in what we aim to do with the rest of our lives. That's so young. How can anyone be sure what they really want to do with their lives at such a young age. And then, once we 'pick a major' we lose so much flexibility in our decision making. all of a sudden, if you decide that what you've studied for the last four years doesn't quite suit you, you're labeled as someone who changes her mind too frequently. And then! What's more! People put so much pressure on what it is that we've studied during our years as undergraduates. "Oh! Wow! Economics! That's great! What a great major!" Yes. It is. But what if I actually learned more material I consider to be of value for the rest of my life in other classes. No one gives a rats ass about those classes. As long as I have a piece of paper saying I got my bachelor of arts in Economics, everything will be set.
Now, I can see the finish line. I'm almost there, but part of me almost wishes I could redo my years at George Mason, that I could choose a field of study that was more multi-dimensional, that didn't box human beings into rational-minded self serving individuals. I wish I could have studied human interactions, cultures, conflicts, real life.
I mean, maybe Ayn Rand had it right, you know? Maybe she had reason. But that reason isn't real life! I don't really know what I'm supposed to do with anything that I learned these years. I feel like I came out of George Mason with a pile of information making me critical of most people around me and what their aims actually are. I came out thinking that empathy may not actually exist. That there is no such thing as the proletariat. That there actually is an "I" in team. Well. Well, I don't like it. In fact, I hate it. I'm so over it. Go away. Go away Glenn Beck. Go away Tea Party. You guys terrify me. You're not real. You're robots. I hate you.
Bye.
PS. Excuse the mumbo jumbo. I guess I have a lot on my mind
30 August, 2010
24 August, 2010
the messages people send to each other
"Happy Birthday, boo! Here are some beautiful tulips for someone with two beautiful lips. I love you."
21 August, 2010
There is an infinite number of good things, which we all agree are highly desirable as well as possible, but of which we cannot hope to achieve more than a few within our lifetime, or which we can hope to achieve only very imprefectly. It is the frustration of his amibtions in his own field which makes the specialist revolt against the existing order. We all find it difficult to bear to see things left undone which everybody must admit are both desirable and possible.FA Hayek, The Road to Serfdom
17 August, 2010
12 August, 2010
Happy birthday to Ya(sna)! Happy birthday to Ya(sna)! Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
Dear Swedie,
Today for your birthday I wish I could give you one of these:
I hope you get a bunch of neat stuff. Like this:
And maybe you'll even have the opportunity to visit him (emphasis being on the city where he currently resides):
I love you miss thang. Now make a wish and blow these out:
Today for your birthday I wish I could give you one of these:
But alas, I will have to resort to giving you one of these:
Which tooottttaaaallllyyyyyyyy isnt the same, I know.
But it sure is better than being in the middle of this:
I hope you get a bunch of neat stuff. Like this:
You have the chance to learn more about this:
And maybe you'll even have the opportunity to visit him (emphasis being on the city where he currently resides):
I love you miss thang. Now make a wish and blow these out:
03 August, 2010
MOOSHMOOSHAK POWER
My friend Marion is turning [insert her age here because she doesn't like to tell people how old she is]. She's in the south of France and I miss her so much. Soooooo much. I wish I could be in France to celebrate her real birthday with her this year. But it's ok. When we're in the same place at the same time, we'll choose a day to celebrate her birthday. Right Raison? Right.
It was really luck that brought Marion into my life, I think. Luck placed her apartment right next to mine in that fateful fall in Paris. We had some amazing times in those apartments. From the first time that we hung out and went to the Louvre. Marion explained her philosophies on life, explained the meaning of her tattoo, and told me she was baptized...which was actually me misunderstanding what she was saying. So strange. Most of my time knowing her I believed her to be Catholic. Anyway. I was so excited to be in the company of someone so smart, who spoke with conviction, who made an effort to extend a friendship to me.
Then when we started to invite each other over for dinner at night. The first time, I made, what was supposed to be Iranian polo, and "khoresht bademjoon." Haha, yeah right. But at least it tasted alright? And then Marion would make pasta with aubergines, or traditional southern cuisine. We would eat dinner, and then wonder what we should do. So, Marion would let me flip through her dvds and we would choose one to watch. Our favorite, of course, was L'Auberge Espagnole. As we sat there and watched, we said, "one day, we're going to have a group of friends like this." We sat there, watched the movie, and smiled.
We bonded those months over the annoying dog in our apartment complex. Mim's dog, Angel. We bonded over the loud loud loud music the girl above us would play all the time. Marion yelled at the girl who lived in that apartment for throwing her cigarette butts down onto, what I considered, my garden. It was like, since she was French, she protected me from what I could not protect myself.
We were roommates for a while. She moved her things into my apartment and would apologize every day for having her things there. "MARION!" I would yell, "Do you see me USING that part of the apartment?!" Nooooo. And we would make dinner and eat together. Or make disgusting drinks with left over alcohol, ice, and clementines, which we wouldn't be able to drink.
And in the mornings, Marion would wake up earlier than us (us, because at this point Yasna was living there too) and she would get ready in my TINY TINY TINY MINISCULE little bathroom, and eat her cereal in there too. Her cereal with the chocolate that smelled like paint but Marion and Yasna loved it so much.
And at night we would come back home, and sometimes she would ask (no not sometimes, ONCE) me to braid her hair, and I would wonder why she couldn't just braid her own hair. And she would think that I didn't love her anymore because I wouldn't braid her hair or make her pizza. Except, no one needs to eat frozen pizza late at night when they should actually be going to bed. Right?
And we would spend time blowing up Yasna's matelas. And Marion would tell me, "NO. NOT MAT-E-LAS, MATLA" and I would forget each time how to pronounce the word.
Oh the times that passed in that apartment.
Oh the times that passed that year.
Marion would get mad at us daily for never being on time to any place. She would always get there before us, and have to wait. And we would apologize and apologize. But the next day we would be late again.
And she was always there to give us advice. What to do. What NOT to do. And I would listen to her telling me and wonder how it was she became so learned at such a young age. And I would try to follow her advice. Only sometimes it just wouldn't work. And she would raise her eyebrow at me.
The times we couldn't understand each other.
Marion: Oh, I'm so hungry, I just want something to heaattt
Ranna: Here. Punch this computer box
Marion: I WANT SOMETHING TO EAT.
Ranna: Ohhhhhh eaaaaaaatttttttt
Marion: Je suis contrariée
Yasna/Courtney: What is that?
Marion: Ranna, c'est quoi, contrariée en anglais?
Ranna: Oh, she has her period.
Marion: NO I DONT!!!!
Marion: How do you say 'Christmas tree' in English?
Ranna: In english? Christmas tree?
Marion: Ranna, give me what you're using to wash your dishes.
Ranna: It's right there!
Ranna hands over plastic bottle of what is assumed to be dishwashing liquid
Marion: RANNA, THIS IS TOILET BOWL CLEANER
Ranna and Marion fall on floor laughing
GOD. I know I'm forgetting so much. I'm forgetting SO MUCH! I don't want to forget. I was supposed to always remember. Alas, I must wait to build new memories with her.
Marion's life is not always easy. Far from it, in fact. And if there was a way to possibly cushion the blows life throws, I would cushion hers without asking any questions. I think of every person I know in this world, she deserves the highest level of happiness.
I know that the world is working in her favor a little bit more recently, in the last few months, and I hope that everything only continues to get better.
Marion, pretend that we're all there, the family, sitting around the table, a cake in front of you with candles for you to blow. Pretend we're all singing "Happy Birthday" to you in all of our different languages. Pretend that there is champagne spilling from our glasses, and that after we cut the cake we're going to go to your favorite place....BANANA :)
Je t'aime, mooshmooshak. I love you with all of my heart and not an ounce less.
Here is to all the memories we've built, and all the ones I know we are going to build in the future.
It was really luck that brought Marion into my life, I think. Luck placed her apartment right next to mine in that fateful fall in Paris. We had some amazing times in those apartments. From the first time that we hung out and went to the Louvre. Marion explained her philosophies on life, explained the meaning of her tattoo, and told me she was baptized...which was actually me misunderstanding what she was saying. So strange. Most of my time knowing her I believed her to be Catholic. Anyway. I was so excited to be in the company of someone so smart, who spoke with conviction, who made an effort to extend a friendship to me.
Then when we started to invite each other over for dinner at night. The first time, I made, what was supposed to be Iranian polo, and "khoresht bademjoon." Haha, yeah right. But at least it tasted alright? And then Marion would make pasta with aubergines, or traditional southern cuisine. We would eat dinner, and then wonder what we should do. So, Marion would let me flip through her dvds and we would choose one to watch. Our favorite, of course, was L'Auberge Espagnole. As we sat there and watched, we said, "one day, we're going to have a group of friends like this." We sat there, watched the movie, and smiled.
We bonded those months over the annoying dog in our apartment complex. Mim's dog, Angel. We bonded over the loud loud loud music the girl above us would play all the time. Marion yelled at the girl who lived in that apartment for throwing her cigarette butts down onto, what I considered, my garden. It was like, since she was French, she protected me from what I could not protect myself.
We were roommates for a while. She moved her things into my apartment and would apologize every day for having her things there. "MARION!" I would yell, "Do you see me USING that part of the apartment?!" Nooooo. And we would make dinner and eat together. Or make disgusting drinks with left over alcohol, ice, and clementines, which we wouldn't be able to drink.
And in the mornings, Marion would wake up earlier than us (us, because at this point Yasna was living there too) and she would get ready in my TINY TINY TINY MINISCULE little bathroom, and eat her cereal in there too. Her cereal with the chocolate that smelled like paint but Marion and Yasna loved it so much.
And at night we would come back home, and sometimes she would ask (no not sometimes, ONCE) me to braid her hair, and I would wonder why she couldn't just braid her own hair. And she would think that I didn't love her anymore because I wouldn't braid her hair or make her pizza. Except, no one needs to eat frozen pizza late at night when they should actually be going to bed. Right?
And we would spend time blowing up Yasna's matelas. And Marion would tell me, "NO. NOT MAT-E-LAS, MATLA" and I would forget each time how to pronounce the word.
Oh the times that passed in that apartment.
Oh the times that passed that year.
Marion would get mad at us daily for never being on time to any place. She would always get there before us, and have to wait. And we would apologize and apologize. But the next day we would be late again.
And she was always there to give us advice. What to do. What NOT to do. And I would listen to her telling me and wonder how it was she became so learned at such a young age. And I would try to follow her advice. Only sometimes it just wouldn't work. And she would raise her eyebrow at me.
The times we couldn't understand each other.
Marion: Oh, I'm so hungry, I just want something to heaattt
Ranna: Here. Punch this computer box
Marion: I WANT SOMETHING TO EAT.
Ranna: Ohhhhhh eaaaaaaatttttttt
Marion: Je suis contrariée
Yasna/Courtney: What is that?
Marion: Ranna, c'est quoi, contrariée en anglais?
Ranna: Oh, she has her period.
Marion: NO I DONT!!!!
Marion: How do you say 'Christmas tree' in English?
Ranna: In english? Christmas tree?
Marion: Ranna, give me what you're using to wash your dishes.
Ranna: It's right there!
Ranna hands over plastic bottle of what is assumed to be dishwashing liquid
Marion: RANNA, THIS IS TOILET BOWL CLEANER
Ranna and Marion fall on floor laughing
GOD. I know I'm forgetting so much. I'm forgetting SO MUCH! I don't want to forget. I was supposed to always remember. Alas, I must wait to build new memories with her.
Marion's life is not always easy. Far from it, in fact. And if there was a way to possibly cushion the blows life throws, I would cushion hers without asking any questions. I think of every person I know in this world, she deserves the highest level of happiness.
I know that the world is working in her favor a little bit more recently, in the last few months, and I hope that everything only continues to get better.
Marion, pretend that we're all there, the family, sitting around the table, a cake in front of you with candles for you to blow. Pretend we're all singing "Happy Birthday" to you in all of our different languages. Pretend that there is champagne spilling from our glasses, and that after we cut the cake we're going to go to your favorite place....BANANA :)
Je t'aime, mooshmooshak. I love you with all of my heart and not an ounce less.
Here is to all the memories we've built, and all the ones I know we are going to build in the future.
02 August, 2010
poland is close to russia
It's not that I necessarily mind the driver Maryam has at the shop. His name is Konstantine. He's Russian. He's a really nice older man. He and his wife moved from Russia about 6 years ago; there, he was an accomplished conductor of an orchestra, here, he delivers flowers. Most of the time he comes and goes and its not a problem. Most of the time, I just hand him the delivery confirmation sheets and his directions and off he goes. Most of the time he amuses me with the manner in which he speaks.
But sometimes.
SOMETIMES he just gets on my nerves.
Like when I've been too busy to make his delivery confirmation sheet and I start to do it right as he comes in. Then, he stands by my side as I'm looking up directions and making the forms and he stares at me and then the computer screen and then at me and then at the computer screen. But then, what's more. Yes, there's more. He starts to tap his fingers on the counter in impatience. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap. And I start getting distracted and I start to make spelling mistakes which takes more time which makes him even more impatient. Finally, I hand them over and he struts away, looking annoyed.
Something else that gets on my nerves? Oh yeah. The fact that he wont listen to anyone but Maryam about certain things. Sometimes when I'm on the phone with another customer he calls and says...no SCREAMS, "YES HELLO IS KONSTANTINE. ASK MISS MARYAM PLEASE IF I LEAVE BY DOOR THE FLOWERS."
To which I reply, "YES KONSTANTINE IS OK IF YOU LEAVE ON DOOR."
Which prompts the response of, "NO ASK MISS MARYAM IF OK IF I LEAVE ON DOOR."
After which, I put the phone on my chest, wait about 7 seconds, then reply, " YES KONSTANTINE, MISS MARYAM SAYS YES IS OK."
Thank you. You're welcome. GOODBYE.
I have had to learn to speak in a way that he understands what I'm saying. For instance, I have to shorten my sentences to the point where I still tell him what I need to tell him, but with the least words possible. Otherwise, he FEIGNS comprehension, but really, it's going right over his head.
"KONSTANTINE, TAKE FLOWERS TO HOUSE, COME BACK, TAKE BOXES TRASH"
Also, he always says, "Youre welcome." Before I've had the chance to say, "Thank you."
He hands me back the delivery confirmation sheets and says, "Yes, you're welcome." And then runs off again and leaves me sitting there yelling "thank you" to his back.
He calls his clipboard his desk. "YES. I LEAVE DESK HERE. I HAVE TO MY PAPERS ON IT. YES. YES. I COME BACK."
But then. But then I think about the life he left behind in Russia. I think about who he was there, and who he is here. I think about the thoughts running through his head as he delivers the flowers. If he ever regrets moving to the United States. I wonder if I get on his nerves.
So then I'm nice to him.
Yes. Konstantine. Is Ok.
But sometimes.
SOMETIMES he just gets on my nerves.
Like when I've been too busy to make his delivery confirmation sheet and I start to do it right as he comes in. Then, he stands by my side as I'm looking up directions and making the forms and he stares at me and then the computer screen and then at me and then at the computer screen. But then, what's more. Yes, there's more. He starts to tap his fingers on the counter in impatience. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap. And I start getting distracted and I start to make spelling mistakes which takes more time which makes him even more impatient. Finally, I hand them over and he struts away, looking annoyed.
Something else that gets on my nerves? Oh yeah. The fact that he wont listen to anyone but Maryam about certain things. Sometimes when I'm on the phone with another customer he calls and says...no SCREAMS, "YES HELLO IS KONSTANTINE. ASK MISS MARYAM PLEASE IF I LEAVE BY DOOR THE FLOWERS."
To which I reply, "YES KONSTANTINE IS OK IF YOU LEAVE ON DOOR."
Which prompts the response of, "NO ASK MISS MARYAM IF OK IF I LEAVE ON DOOR."
After which, I put the phone on my chest, wait about 7 seconds, then reply, " YES KONSTANTINE, MISS MARYAM SAYS YES IS OK."
Thank you. You're welcome. GOODBYE.
I have had to learn to speak in a way that he understands what I'm saying. For instance, I have to shorten my sentences to the point where I still tell him what I need to tell him, but with the least words possible. Otherwise, he FEIGNS comprehension, but really, it's going right over his head.
"KONSTANTINE, TAKE FLOWERS TO HOUSE, COME BACK, TAKE BOXES TRASH"
Also, he always says, "Youre welcome." Before I've had the chance to say, "Thank you."
He hands me back the delivery confirmation sheets and says, "Yes, you're welcome." And then runs off again and leaves me sitting there yelling "thank you" to his back.
He calls his clipboard his desk. "YES. I LEAVE DESK HERE. I HAVE TO MY PAPERS ON IT. YES. YES. I COME BACK."
But then. But then I think about the life he left behind in Russia. I think about who he was there, and who he is here. I think about the thoughts running through his head as he delivers the flowers. If he ever regrets moving to the United States. I wonder if I get on his nerves.
So then I'm nice to him.
Yes. Konstantine. Is Ok.
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