My latest cartoon crush:

Today is the anniversary of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, and I came across this really wonderful collection of articles and videos through Slate on The Root.com. Particularly good I thought was the short interview between Profs. Michael Eric Dysen and James Braxton Peterson on April 4th as Easter and an article by Marian Wright Edelman on why we cannot give in to despair. There's also an interview with Vernon Reid that I'm going to read right now, and another article taking a look at the role of gender in the trauma of the loss. I can't embed the videos, unfortunately, but follow this link to the delightfully full page.

This is a presentation by neuroanatomist Jill Bolte Taylor on her experience of having a stroke. I found it among the TED talks (ted.com), many of which I highly recommend. I think this is just about the most wonderful presentation of personal experience I've ever seen.

Ahhh, springtime. It's 46 degrees outside, just a little windy and I'm comfortably sitting around in a robe and house socks (with those little sticky bits on the bottom). It's soooo nice not to have to be bundled up inside my apartment, which is old and drafty. I'm also resisting the urge to scratch the scab off my new tattoo, which Phoebe designed and embedded in my epidermis on Sunday. It means so much to me that she went to the trouble, and that I now have a permanent, beautiful memento of our friendship and her astonishing artistic skillz. I'll post pics as soon as she makes them available. It's been a while since I've had ink done, the last one was in '99, and I forgot how eerily wonderful it is to have that crazy vibrating pain echoing through my skin, muscle and bones. I totally get the addictive quality of tattoos, and in fact this dogwood that's blossomed on my shoulder is the first part of a full back piece I have planned in various stages. Some people think it's mutilation, and I suppose I can understand that perspective, but for me it's a beautiful commitment to the images and sentiments that have shaped my life and will continue to be a kind of indelible link between my past and my future. This particular image is all about my wonderful Mother, who designed an image of a dogwood blossom for my high school graduation invites. The reference is to a tree that blooms spectacularly outside my bedroom in Ithaca every spring, and I can't count the number of times I've sat at that window, looking through the pink flowers and twisty branches toward the sound of rushing water. That image and the feelings I felt in those moments, as diverse as they were and continue to be, are an important part of my self-understanding, and it seems fitting that when I turn my head, wherever I am, that image will be forever before my eyes. Goodness, I'm getting teary.




Speaking of teary, Gaylord has officially left our little Upstate world for the wilds of Atlanta. They'll be back, of course, allegedly in as little as a few months, but I certainly won't be able to see their wonderful shows as often, and that makes me sad. Never mind the fact that they're three of the greatest guys I've met in recent memory and I'll miss their company immensely. They came and played in Ithaca on Thursday, and despite the very disappointing turnout (the weather contributing to a minimal promotional effort), it was a true love-fest. The fans that came were immensely enthusiastic and the guys played one of the best shows I've ever seen them play. I can't sing their praises enough, their music is complex and hypnotic, catchy and profound, Atlanta is very lucky to have them. Sigh.

School-wise, everything is going rather swimmingly, despite the fact that I've been mightily distracted by extra-curriculars. My classes are great, I'm really enjoying each of them in their own distinct eye-opening capacities, and I'm looking forward to the rest of my time here. For the summer, I have big plans. If the FLAS grant comes through, I'll be spending the summer in Montreal, taking intensive French classes and generally enjoying Canada and a few very close friends who have the good fortune to live there. If the grant doesn't come through, I might sublet my Syracuse apartment anyway and head to Ithaca to work at Gimme and study French on my own. Either way, I think I will be very happy to ramble around in tank tops and flip flops, drinking icey bevies and complaining about the heat. It doesn't seem so far away on days like this, and thank the powers that be this winter is almost over.

In other, wonderful news my Brother Adam was accepted to the Master of Social Welfare program at Stony Brook for next fall! For anyone who knows him and his work it was a foregone conclusion, they're lucky to have him, but being in Ithaca for the receipt of that fat admissions package and my Mother and I scrambling to get him on the phone was a real thrill and I am soooo proud and happy and excited for him. Watching him delve into his passion for helping people and developing his considerable skills in psychology is one of the great joys of my life, and the fact that he'll continue on this path makes me want to leap with happiness. Congratulations Brohan!!!

So many warm fuzzies... I hope everyone is well. I MUST get down to work.

I know this is becoming Barack Obama central, but a lot of people are telling me they can't find these speeches, so I'm happy to help out. This was given yesterday in Fayetteville, North Carolina (I've been to the bus station there a bunch of times, not so nice). It's about the war in Iraq and what Pres. Obama would do differently with Afghanistan and Pakistan, foreign policy, and yes, he calls for the freedom of Tibet! He's getting the hang of presenting good detail with eloquence. He seems to get better with every challenge.

In case anyone missed this this morning, do watch the whole thing. Whatever happens in November, this is a historic moment, and a step forward in the evolution of our ever more perfect union.

I believe in this man, and what's more (and a bit miraculous), he makes me believe in the future of this country.

This is a story I wanted to share as a follow up to the "Charming Burqa" entry from earlier. I heard it on NPR's "Marketplace" just a minute ago and thank the stars at public radio the whole thing is available in audio and transcript on the webs:

Saudi boy meets girl -- via Bluetooth

[There was a picture here that came with the article, but a fleeting bit of feedback from some anonymous commentator asked me to take it down, as it was a picture of her friend who did not authorize the photograph to be used. I don't know if it's true, but I suppose I better respect her wishes just in case.]

This stuff fascinates me, technology as instrumental in identity formation and mutual understanding, limitations and advantages. I'm writing a paper on the North American and European feminist response to the hijab, and this almost makes me want to write another paper as an addendum.

It's been a while since the last substantive personal post to this thing, and I suppose there's several reasons for that, none of them important or interesting. I'm listening to the "I'm Not There" soundtrack (disk 1), drinking Negra Modelo, smoking, and freezing my ass off. I've had several near-death experiences lately, driving wise. Once I lost control of the car trying to pass an 18-wheeler and nearly fishtailed between the wheels. I hit the shoulder and couldn't even slow down for about 400 yards (a long distance at any rate, my distance estimates are notorious). Another time , I watched a guy in a souped-up sports car lose control just as he was passing me and spin through the dividing ditch and across the oncoming lanes of traffic. As far as I could tell his dumb ass didn't hit anybody, but I saw people slow down for him and I imagine he'll live to drive less stupidly in the future. I've never driven extensively in bad weather, and for various reasons I'm doing it a lot lately and I think it's made me pretty paranoid. I'm perfectly comfortable putting on my hazards and going 45 in a 65, watching the douchebags whiz past me, risking their lives for a little machismo, it's effing stupid.

Anyway, I've been distracted lately waiting for other shoes to drop. Up until this point you'd think I was dealing with amputees, everyone seems to be really good at standing on one leg. On the school front I seem to be pushing the envelope, seeing how much apathy I can get away with. Apparently, a lot. Not where it counts of course, but to be honest the day to day responsibilities of this "job" I couldn't care less about. I'm not maintaining my everyday academic life. When have I ever? Even when I'm in the process of working myself into the ground? I've never felt genuinely prepared, so I guess I'm learning there's a more relaxed way to go about this. Looking back I feel a little bit like a robot, a pavlovian anxiety machine of some kind. Cue: I have things to do. Response: Freak out!! After a while I can't even take myself seriously anymore. Thank goodness for journals and blogs. In the absence of a good memory, they're the best thing for self-analysis.

Which brings me to my sand-grain of the month. A very dear friend, who's known me for a long time recently commented on my journaling in public. The comment was something to the effect of: "You're one of those girls," he smiles, "scary." "Oh yes," I respond, "they run for the hills." Who they are should mystify no one, and his comment in that sense was truer than he knows. Far be it for me to point out that he himself was a case in point. It's not a matter of writing in public, that's not the issue. A lot of people think I'm writing for some paper or working on a novel or something. What really makes the difference is the eyes I turn on people when they ask me. I have a knack for making people instantly uncomfortable, even though I can work a room when I want to. If I'm in the middle of searching for something, whether it be some psychological trifle in a previous entry or the precise line that will capture the particular oddity of the moment, if I suddenly look at another person's face I'll have those same eyes, and a lot of people get almost offended, like I'm trying to deprive them of the security of the usual social rituals. Some people like it, of course, and they find me charming in a collector's item kind of way until I ask the wrong question or am too direct about something they either haven't considered or are unwilling to admit. At any rate, as one might imagine, a "girl" sitting alone in a bar writing in a notebook attracts a particular kind of attention, and most of the time the awkwardness of my social naivete is enough to scare off the drunk, the predatory and the stupid. The rest I'm happy to have a beer with.

I suppose it pisses me off because in a lot of cases I feel like I go to a lot of trouble to make people feel comfortable and in the process I contort myself into this insincere socialite (and not a very good one at that), or I convert myself into this collector's item mentality and try to match whatever expectations I can read from their faces. If I let all this pretending slip, I'm left with the usual (and perfectly understandable) rejections of the introverted, moody, self-analyzing neurotic I truly am. I guess I'm starting to wonder what the point of all this ingratiating is, ultimately. Sure, it's deeply rooted in my ever-present insecurities, I want to be liked by everyone, but I'm starting to wear through the illusion that just because I can make people like me I'll be able to maintain the pretense forever without expecting something in return. Of course the other person can't possibly know I'm doing all this work on "our" behalf, so no wonder they react defensively and tell me to go eff myself. Never in so many words of course, such straight-forwardness is not to be expected.

In any case, it's mostly a guessing game. Trial and error, my favorite...

I hope you're all well!

I thought this was interesting (again via BoingBoing), especially insofar as it's discussed in terms of Freud. I'd be interested to hear people's opinions, especially those of you who either wear the veil (I don't think I know anyone that wears a burka, but if you're reading this, please comment!) or study the veil as a religious/cultural phenomenon. Apparently this doesn't violate any Koranic laws, and that's interesting in itself.

The Charming Burka

Hedberg, Mitch - Just For Laughs: Stand Up, Vol. 2: On the Edge - 02

Posted by justinasharlilpagi

First order of business:
If this is your cat, let me know. He's adorable, but I don't necessarily want to keep him. At least I think he's a him, I'm not 100% sure I know the difference between male and female cats by outward signs. Tyra emailed me late Friday night and told me that a ginger cat that had been wandering the neighborhood for a few days was mewling in her entry way, and the weather was bad, so I took pity on him and brought him home. I had been talking in study hall about my kinda plan to get another cat, and how I love orange tiger cats, and lo, the next day one materializes. This, I presume, is the cosmos' way of kicking me off my duff, but I'm not convinced I'm supposed to make him a member of our little family. If I do, I think I'll name him Pursey (he does this cute little thing with his face when he wants something), so if someone out there has already named him, please feel free to spare him the indignity.

As far as the experiment goes, it's hard to tell whether Mr. Mystery and Smokey will get along just yet. There have been some scraps (on my bed no less, while I was sleeping, a singularly unpleasant way to wake up), and my house is filled with hostile feline noises pretty much 24 hours, but I'm pretty sure we're just establishing the pecking order. At any rate, I've had to assert my top position a lot more with the newby than I ever had to do with Smokey, given the former's proclivity for jumping up on preferably sanitary surfaces and his intense desire to seek out Smokey's hiding places and disturb his hard won solitude. He's definately younger than Smokey, but honestly I have no idea what's really going on with him. He could be diseased for all I know, but for now I'm just going to hope I haven't been smited.

Last night Tyra, Sangeetha and I went to Ithaca for the Ani show at the State Theatre. There's something about Ani that's pretty indescribable, I never dance at her shows because I'm always completely transfixed by the way she performs. There's something so private about her presence, even though she's standing before oodles of people. It was interesting at the State because for most of her classic songs (Fire Door, Untouchable Face, 32 Flavors, Both Hands) people were singing along, at times in this barely audible sybillant (sp?) whisper that echoed just after Ani's voice. This was both good and bad, good because it gave a warm fuzzy feeling of community, and bad because she was motivated to sing more classic songs, which frankly, I've heard these numbers too often, they've become bleached of new and startling insights for me. She also played a new song that I flatly didn't like, which is a new experience for me where Ani's concerned. At any rate, seeing her live was important to me, not only because I love her music, but because I think she's one of the few independent female role models I can still hold up. There's nothing compromised about her, she's solidly and (probably) irresistibly herself on stage, and the individuality of her music and performance startles me anew each time.

Ugh, I'm so tired today. Beyond the sleep I lost to the establishment of the pecking order, I've been more or less very hard at work in the last few days. I submitted two papers for publishing of one form or another and I've been trying to catch up with the coursework for next week, which I haven't actually managed to do. Something about school is starting to seem easier, I can't put my finger on it, but the realization that I am no solid judge of my own work seems to put the work I do do in a different perspective. I'm tempted to spend the rest of the day at Dan's house watching the superbowl, but I'm afraid I'd either fall asleep or just be bad company. A big part of me just wants to curl up with a movie and try to wake up tomorrow with something resembling an assembled mental base.

Anyway, I hope everyone is well, wherever this finds you.

Things I'm into these days:

Music

Gaylord
Holy Fuck
Jeff Oussoren
Dave Marcotte
Apostle of Hustle
I'm Not There (Soundtrack)
Antony and the Johnsons

Shows

The Boondocks
The Venture Bros.

Movies

Stranger Than Fiction
dandelion
Knocked Up
Across the Universe
I'm Not There

Activities

Scrabulous (Facebook)
Darts (I played a nine round game of cricket in the Tropicana, there were no witnesses.)
Bar hopping: the Chanti, Korova, Madeleine's, Felicia's, Castaways, Taps, Lux, the Bug Jar, Monty's Krown, Grafitti's, Sneaky Dee's, The Bovine Sex Club.
Indoor gardening
Laser pointering with Smokey
Urban exploration (esp. Syracuse and Rochester)

News

Reversal Of Alzheimer's Symptoms Within Minutes In Human Study (via BoingBoing)

Bits of Inexpensive Genius

The Original Rolling Tray
Tape adapters

Personal Revolutions

Hoop earrings
My car (1997 Mercury Sable GS, formerly my Babcia and Dziadek's)
Free couch
High heels

Pretty Pictures

Aquamarine, Maxfield Parrish, 1917

Royalty, Lenora Clark, 2007

Intertubes Phenomena

Interactive Social Contract

Nearly a month later, I return. I'm not sure what mental block has been keeping me from posting here recently, but there's something about this blank box and the head full of things I could say that has me sitting here tapping my fingers at a full stop.

The break was crazy. Between Christmas and traveling and New Years there's far too much to report. Now that I'm back in Syracuse, trying to work, everything seems too quiet. I leave my apartment once a day, just to get some air and walk around. It's been freaky warm here for the last three days, I have windows and doors open to let the air circulate, and it's nice to be able to stroll, smoke and meditate without getting all geared up. I'm dreading the day I finally get robbed in this town, people tell me all the time I shouldn't walk around by myself, something bad could happen, but honestly the freedom to explore and be alone with everybody is too good to pass up, especially when I have about six gigs of music people gave me to go through. That's something I really miss about Toronto and Leuven, those are great places to get lost in the streets.

Among the highlights of the Christmas holiday was (as always) spending lots of time with my Brother. I don't think I would get through all the consumeristic bullshit of this holiday without our annual last minute shopping missions, and cooking breakfast Christmas morning makes my day (with all due respect to Jesus and his memory). I wish many years that I had a religious service to go to, and we do go to the Unitarian Christmas Eve service at Sage chapel, but those haven't been good in a long time, despite the fact that I see a lot of people I love and miss there. I like the idea of celebrating the prophet's birth, but if I had my druthers, I might light a candle on a cupcake and read the sermon on the mount. A few years ago my Mom, Adam and I went to Venice for Christmas and we ended up going to the midnight mass at the basilica San Marco, which is an absolutely beautiful building. Too beautiful really, all gold and vaulted ceilings, everyone was pushing and shoving trying to get to the front. It was so packed there was no way to get away from all the jockying for position, and about halfway through I had to leave and grieve that this is what the holy day means to us now. I felt it keenly that the prestige of worship had eclipsed the profundity of the message, and I wanted to scream at all those people in the basilica "what hell are you celebrating with all this?" If Jesus had been in the building, I think more than a few people would have been killed in the stampede to rip something from him as a momento. Such is the fate of the prophets, to be consumed like everything else.

On a different, less bitter note, Phoebe and I went to Toronto between Christmas and New Year's Eve, which was so unbelievably awesome I thought my heart would explode. We went hella shopping all over the place and with her fashion sense and my willingness to try on a bazillion things, I came out with so much stuff that I really love it was something of a miracle. I hate clothes shopping, as most of you know, but now I have a taste of what shopping can be like, given the right circumstances and company. The fashion in Toronto is also head and shoulders above anything in Ithaca or Syracuse, so there was so much to choose from. I got to catch up with a lot of good friends, even in that limited time, and the city itself still thrills me in all its gritty little details, I miss it so much. It was especially great to hang out with Mike and Jan, who generously hosted Phoebe and I on their couches, I'm really grateful to count those guys among my old friends, every time I see them they're up to something else beautiful and fascinating.

New Year's Eve was amazing. I was intent this year on dressing up for Lauren's fancy dress party, and wearing something that didn't look like my Mother's prom dress. I have such a tendency to dress solemnly when I get gussied, I thought it was high time I add flirt and flare to the mix. Of course, this involves short dresses with plunging neck lines and crazy heels, but I didn't have any plans to go to any bars that night, so I could be impractical and just chill with people I knew weren't going to make me uncomfortable. When I'm more confident with that kind of attention and can deflect it better, I'll go out into the world, but until then, I'm grateful for all those friends that will tell me when I'm sitting like a boy and steady me on my pins. As it was, even with a relatively large gathering, I had so much fun and got to visit with so many amazing people I think it all bodes very well for the coming year. Ken Hill took these picture of Phoebe and I, look how glamorous she is! Makes me freaking crazy jealous.

School starts soon, and as usual I am tragically unprepared. I meant to read all these books on Jewish mysticism over the break, but I find the tomes so far above my level on this topic that I end up looking up every other word on wikipedia. I'm excited about my new classes, one on Kierkegaard's Works of Love and another on religion, media and international relations, plus an independent study with Dr. Braiterman on the afore mentioned mysticism. Now that the dust is settled and the first semester is in the can, I'm really starting to appreciate how great the department is, and how much my peers and teachers have to offer me. It's all very exciting really, I hope to live up to the chance I've been given here.

I hope all of you are wonderful, and to all those operating on this calendar, happy new year!!

Despite the fact that this man was arrested (and presumably charged), I can't help feeling like Japan is "do whatever you want land". I especially love BoingBoing's screenshot of the newsreel cartoon, and the nickname reaction. They do good work.

Drive-by Coffee Spitter Arrested

What is it about paper writing that makes me so crazy? It seems to make everyone crazy, so I'm not alone. But of course one's true colors emerge under pressure, and mine are like one of those magic eye pictures. There's something there, everyone says so, but for the life of me I can't tell what I'm supposed to see, I can't focus my eyes correctly. I RUN from the work. If it weren't for the endless depths of the interwebs I wouldn't be able to stand even the pretense of being chained to the desk. It's just hard, and my life is so easy otherwise. I'm spoiled for hard work, that's the long and short of it.

Nonetheless, I'm in a cycle of procrastination, and I figure it's more productive to turn the insides out than simply keep refreshing my scrabulous games waiting for any one of my six opponents to make their freaking move.

Smokey and I went to Donovan's house today and had lunch with the host, Nell and Job, the host's cat. We imagined it as a kind of experimental playdate, and I must say the two beasties acquitted themselves admirably. Smokey was pissed to be put in the carrier, both times, but when I let him out at Donovan's he was cool, calm and collected, hissing minimally and not so much interested in Job as in the various appointments of Donovan's apartment. Part of the impetus behind the whole thing was to see if Smokey was freaked out by other cats. I don't know if he's ever been exposed to other cats, so I thought it was worth investigating. He gets into these moods where he can't leave me alone, but he doesn't really want me to do anything except talk to him. He doesn't want to be pet, he doesn't want to play, he doesn't like it when I chase him or try to wrestle, he just doesn't want me to do anything else either. I go through this whole routine whenever he does this, I check his food, his poop space, everything's invariably fine, he's just... I dunno, unanswerable. If I do turn my attention elsewhere he lets out these deep throaty yowls that I imagine the neighbors must be able to hear and the only thing I can do to stop him is to talk to him, ask him what's wrong, make fun of his voice. Then he looks at me, with this fascinated expression, and if he comes over it's not so close that I can reach out and pet him (if I try he runs away), it's just close enough that he can get a better look at me speaking (or so it seems anyway). If I stop speaking and just look at him, he gets all self-conscious and turns away, ostensibly to do something else, and then as soon as I think it's all over and done with, he'll start with the yowling again. So far as I can tell this is his only symptom, of whatever condition I can't imagine, and it happens maybe once every other day, usually in the evening, until he decides to stop.

It seems especially appropriate that I should have a cat who's fascinated by speech, if that's really what it is. At any rate, my cat has a Face, in the Levinasian sense. He makes demands and I go crazy because I don't know how to give him what he wants. I don't know what he wants, so I theorize and plot. The kitty playdate was a precursor to a perhaps plan that I've been cooking up to get another cat. Two cats is a lot for a one bedroom apartment, and I'm not at the point of wanting another right now. But I wonder if maybe Smokey is just lonely for intra-species conversation, as it were, and I am, of course, completely inadequate for the purpose. If I could time it right, Job would come over when Smokey was being crazy, so I could see if his eyes lit up. Today at lunch he seemed to be completely detached and uninterested in Job, but that was a narrow window of time, and the first of such experiences for Smokey, as far as I know. I'm glad my Elder Admiral feels comfortable enough to express himself so openly, but I need to figure out what it is he's trying to tell me, or we're going to start resenting the misunderstanding.

Which, through a labyrinth of barely distinguishable connections, brings me to my Lacan and the Symposium paper... this concept of the agalma inside the little ugly statue of the silenoi. The magnetic jewel inside the repulsive body. Ostensibly this is Socrates through the eyes of the rogue Alcibiades (I love calling him that), but part of Lacan's point (as I gather), is that beloveds are invariably like this. They hold something out to their lovers that cannot be described, cannot be accounted for or made understandable to anyone else. We love them in spite of themselves, and despite our own images of whatever lovableness another being can possibly contain. That quality precludes rationalization partly because it isn't real, and partly because we cannot resist our own imaginations. Desire is a force beyond reckoning in the human sphere, and all this talk of religion and knowledge and the good, the beautiful and the true is just so much noise when you believe that adornment is there, inside that, waiting for you to break through the barrier. Socrates speaks, and Alcibiades is possessed by his words: "When I hear them, my heart pounds and the tears flow" (215d), and this from a great manly man who could swing wars with his genius (rhymes with...). So this prince pulls out all the stops, risks every cent of his pride to get this goatish older man to let him inside, and Socrates keeps his face turned away, saying, "it's not me." I understand how Alcibiades feels, enraged at the sudden confrontation with the boundary of his not inconsiderable seductive power, forever crashing against the gates of Socratic virtue. "So, I forcibly stop up my ears and run away, as from the Sirens, so that I won't grow old just sitting there beside him" (216a).

How to turn this into some kind of professional document? That is the question.

Seriously...

Reposting from an October BoingBoing (I'm way behind in my web reading), I thought this was interesting: a robot that has been tasked to re-write the entire Luther Bible around the clock. It's interesting to me that they describe the robot as "ascetic". It's kind of strange to think that biblical transcription is moving into the hands of programmers. The robot's actually writing in calligraphy with a pen, I wonder where this printing will end up.

Robot Ascetic Inscribes Bible

The world is a crazy place, I'm sure we all knew that, but it strikes me afresh sometimes and I just have to say it. Crazy, crazy, crazy.

Which is more or less to say that my life is intense right now, not only because it's paper writing season again (the last two weeks no less, God help me) but also because I've been sick not once (see last post) but twice, with different colds. I'm hardly ever sick, and I take it like a baby, so the last three weeks have been pretty tough, especially all mixed up with happenings and responsibilities and whatnot. It's hard to do anything when I'm breathing through my mouth and coughing like a consumptive. The good news is that I am nearly over the last one, and when it's finally over I'm going to spray this whole place down with Purel and have done with it. Here's hoping.

Backtracking a little bit, Thanksgiving was a narrow hiatus on the sick front, about two days where I felt pretty okay. I was fortunate enough to have two thanksgivings this year, one with the Dad in Rochester and one with my Mom in Ithaca. The Rochester festivities were more traditional, turkey and such, and it was nice to spend time with my Grandmother, who just moved up there from South Jersey. I've had dinner at her new place the last two Fridays and it's really excellent being able to call her up and head over to see her, only an hour and a half away. At Mom's Adam and I made surf and turf, which was really awesome, I love cooking with my Brother. I've never really liked seafood, and I don't think I will ever like shrimp in particular (plus Brohan would lose a source of boundless amusement) but I'm trying to expand my horizons and scallops wrapped in bacon are pretty damn good. I've been trying to cook salmon at home too. Dom was up for a visit one Monday and I made a maple version that was really good, so here's hoping.

This last weekend I spent in Rochester, which was really more awesome than I could have planned on my own. Thankfully I have some friends in Rochester this year, so I finally got to see the city the way I like to see cities, which is to say, according to my sub-cultural inclinations. I went down on Friday and hung out with my family in Pittsford for a little while, then met up with Drew downtown. I met Drew and Laura while they were visiting Chris in Belgium, and now that I'm back in Upstate it's great to have awesome people to go visit when I'm in Rochester, which is relatively frequently now that both my Dad and Grandma Susie are there.

So I met up with Drew Friday night, and while we were waiting for Laura to get off work the guys were playing the expanded version of Guitar Hero, with all the different instruments, I can't remember what it's called. I had absolutely no intention of attempting such a thing in a room full of relative strangers, but everyone else had an instrument (or was chicken) so I ended up "singing". It was actually way more fun than I thought possible, perhaps because I was too busy deciphering the game cues to remember that I was making a long series of strange muted noises into an amplifying device. I didn't know most of the words to the songs, so there were a lot of randomly annunciated hummings and clickings, but I ended up being pretty good at it, which gave me an ambiguous sense of satisfaction. It's a mimic game, so I'm not actually singing, although maybe I could, but it's more about following the cues and hitting the line that the "notes" makes across the top of the screen. I guess it's more about timing, but that can't even really be the whole truth, because a lot of the guys were musicians and still had trouble "playing" their "instruments". I don't think it necessarily bodes well for my karaoke prospects, but at least I can follow trailing words set to music. At any rate it makes me want an Xbox... though of course I should be wary of all rabbit holes, the internet is enough of a distraction.

After a few rounds Drew and I walked through the blustering winterness and went to this place Lux, which was really amazing. I don't know if it was just a good night, or if I was high on virtual triumph, but this bar completely sold me. I loved the decor, the crowd, the drinks. It was sooo freaking cold outside and I was under-prepared, but then we walked into the warm and Drew informs me that this beautiful place sells hot cider and whiskey. I thought he was joking at first, and then I was holding a huge hot mug of spiked cider. Really it was incredible, I don't know why more bars don't do that. The art was awesome, the bathrooms locked and were cleanish, and there was a huge outside space complete with a free-standing grated fireplace. I never wanted to leave, except for the fact that if I stayed I would eventually drink myself to death. If this place had been in Belgium I think I would have been done for. In addition to all that, the people were really nice, and I had a lot of random conversations with strangers that reinstated my faith in social situations like that, the bar scene as such. Maybe it was just a kismet of circumstances, but a better introduction to Rochester I could not have hoped for.

So I didn't sleep much Friday night. Saturday I spent the day with Julie and Dad in Pittsford helping with Christmas decorations and nursing my hangover. Then that night I went out with my friend Jeff, who is a musician (see Old Boy and Gaylord) and thus knows everybody. His was a whirlwind tour, one of the highlights being the Bug Jar that I've heard so much about (I covet one of the bugs tied to the ceiling, but Jeff reminded me those bugs are there for everyone). Some of the venues in this town seem really amazing, and with all the good bands in Rochester I'm not surprised why people like it so much. Oh yes of course, and when I said I wanted a hot dog (still feeling the night before), Jeff took me to this place called Dogtown, where I ordered a plate of delicious mess, beans and sweet potato fries topped off with a grilled red hot dog, mustard and sauerkraut. It was so good, but I only got about 40% into it. Apparently Rochester is famous for something called the "garbage plate", which everyone kept bringing up. I don't think I'm any kind of match for that thing, I couldn't even finish my Highland skillet (at the Highland Diner) on Sunday morning, hella good though it was. That's a fabulous diner that I actually knew about because my Dad has taken me there nearly every time I've visited. The plates piled high with stuff reminds me of Pittsburgh and the Pickle Barrel, beautifully cheap and wonderfully crass, I miss that place.

So now I'm all down with Rochester. I need to find the cool side of Syracuse, that's the next step. I've gotten into going to Taps on Westcott with Sangeetha and Paul lately, that's a pretty good time, though I really need to find a place with a real dartboard. I love shooting darts but those plastic computerized things make me a little crazy. The PBR is two bucks and they usually have basketball on so I'm set. I've been to the Mezzanotte Lounge a couple of times for shows, but despite the fact that they have a pretty good booking agent (that's where I saw Gaylord the last time) and the sound is pretty good, the place didn't impress me much logistically. If I have to haggle to get back into a place after every cigarette break because they don't believe in stamping for whatever reason, that's a big minus. Plus, I received a manhattan there that didn't have vermouth in it, just soda. Heads up people, there's no soda in a manhattan. Meh, I'm being bitchy, I'm sure the place will grow on me. The big problem with Syracuse, as was the case in Pittsburgh, is that you need a car to get out of your neighborhood, so that puts a big kaibosh on cutting loose. Plus I get two emails every other day informing me that someone's been attacked or robbed on campus or just outside, and although I haven't had any bad experiences yet, that gives me pause.

Now there are three papers to write in 11 days. I never know starting out how these periods will go, but despite my crippling doubts about the first papers I've turned in, I haven't made an ass of myself yet, so here's hoping it all comes off without a hitch. Or at least, none that are too public. My latest psychological improvement project is trying to figure out a way to stop the spiral of self-defeatism that besets me every time I do something that means something to me. I always think I get it wrong, and I make a lot of noise about it and embarrass everyone around me, and then it's ultimately fine. The impulse to control a situation when I have something invested in it is somehow hardwired deep in my brain. I feel the ambiguity bodily and writhe around for however long it takes to get the final outcome. In the interim, I invest so much faith in the magical power of words to negotiate the uncertainty that I make anyone involved crazy with my pre-emptive strikes. I have GOT to cut that out.

So it's just work, work, work from here until the 17th or so, but then it's winter break and I have all kinds of plans. Mike C. might come to visit, hopefully Phoebe and I will take a kick-ass roadtrip to Toronto (where I will get to see lots of people, but especially Mike D. and Jan, who I missed last time), and there might even be a visit from Drew and Chris, while the latter's taking another "I heart America" tour with at least one leg in Upstate before he heads back to the UK. I am going to be so happy to leave this first semester behind, I really hate adjustment periods, however necessary they may be. I don't necessarily know what I'm going to do with Smokey during those times, so if anyone out there feels like house/cat sitting, my house could be your house for a few intervals.

Anyway, I have one more chunk of reading to do before I turn in for the night, so I should get to that before I lose steam. I hope everyone is well!