pain=hmm

I'm sure any frequent reader of this blog is well aware by now of my "pain=no" policy. Pain is your body's way of telling you that it doesn't like something and therefore you shouldn't do it, i.e. putting a hand down atop a hot stove, flossing, and sit-ups. Unfortunately, however, this policy cannot be an end-all and must contain a number of exceptions. Namely, aerobic exercise.

I took my first aerobics class today at the Blatt PE center. The instructor was friendly and well-prepared and led me and about fifteen other girls through a vigorous initial workout. I struggled to recall the area of my brain that simply watched and followed and did not attempt to rationalize or think through my actions--up crunch down down up kick down down...if i thought too much, i realized, i would feel the pain in my legs. if i just watched the instructor's feet and aped her movements my brain could wander off into its own little ethereal world and ignore the beginnings of what i can only hope is the merciless slaughter of the colonies of fat cells currently residing in my thighs. I got confused several times, there's one sequence i still can't get my head around, but it went fairly well until the cool-down.

Dammit if the woman didn't include crunches in her cool-down. I hate crunches. Everyone hates them--with good reason. They hurt. We probably did about fifty, some with feet in the air, some side to side...it could have been worse, but that doesn't mean i have to like it. Youre straining and pulling and the instructor tells you not to use your neck but the tendons holding your head up hurt anyway and you start to go cross-eyed and you're looking to your classmates to see if someone--anyone--looks as miserable as you do and your hair is dripping sweat onto the new foam mat you've lain out for yourself and oh god you have to reach for your shoelaces but your fricking feet are up in the air somewhere...and then she says "feet down, pull your fingers as far from your toes as you can--breathe deeply." and its all better. the endorphin rush is worth it as you roll your head from side to side and half wonder if your water bottle is still cold.

A few minutes later one of my knees started feeling twanged and i realized that my natural high was crashing to the ground, but i didn't mind. I'd been feeling kinda mopey before the class but somehow beating my fat self up in the step-aerobics classroom really helped me feel nice about the world.

And then it hit me.

Goth Kids! Miserable pubescents who feel like life is worthless! Girls who feel unpretty and are contemplating suicide! STOP CUTTING YOURSELF! Aerobics HURT JUST AS MUCH but LEAVE NO SCARS to impair your ability to gain employment once you grow out of it! Join the Y! Sign up for a class! You'll want to leave your white face powder and black eyeshadow at home or all the sweating will cause your eyes to burn. Of course, if you're into pain maybe you should put on more. And when you're done beating the shit out of your sad little self you'll get such a rush of joy from your body Thanking you for Stopping that you might even crack a SMILE. Try it! It hurts!

wally world

Wal-Mart. Say it aloud. Wal-Mart. It reaches the ears like a curse or an insult. The word itself elicits so many deeply buried memories of waiting in line, cheap hubcaps, dissolving clothing, and spoiled milk that frequent use of it can drive one into therapy. You're not just waiting in line to check out--oh no, if that were the case wal-mart would be just like any other store. No, here you have to wait in line to get into an aisle to pick out toilet paper. Here you can't buy bug spray without a group of hispanic men ogling you and making comments to one another in Spanish. While you pick out running shorts from randomly arranged selections of bright pink poly/cotton blends in sizes 2 to 56 you are serenaded by some helpless infant screaming her head off, cursing God for landing her in this hell we dare call convenience shopping.

I visited Wal-Mart this afternoon, I bought my $5 shorts and my moments-from-wilting broccoli, and i kept myself from screaming by reciting in my head, over and over, "what would the Fonz do? He'd be cool, man--he'd be cool."

back

Back in Columbia. Lord its hot. I'm really starting to hate it here. Its like the fates are laughing at me for thinking i could have that which was unattainable--Ha! you thought you could have good friends, a happy relationship, interesting and challenging classes, beautiful scenery, and the appeal of being international? Now we will punish you with searing heat, ugly boys, pretentious fellow students, minimum-wage manual labor, religious nutjobs, and no free parking. MUA HA HA HA.

Its really not horrible bad here, but i am lonely. I'll be ASMing* The Cherry Orchard for Theatre South Carolina mainstage in October. I have my old job in the scene shop back, and my new boss (old ATD**, now TD***) is happy to see me. I may be running some lights and/or sound in the lab theatre for extra moola. I'm going to a ropes course with the CGC**** on Sunday morning so hopefully i'll get to know some crazy neato foreigners. (i, however, am not a foreigner anymore. i must get over this.) My directing class looks interesting and challenging, but i have a lot of friends in the class so hopefully i won't resent attending. The design class looks interesting, but unfortunately the prof has a tendency to ramble along on tangents and expects the students to pay attention while he does so. (i've had him before and he's pretty much just tolerated by the rest of the staff--oh well) I'm not sure about the rest but hopefully they'll be exciting, or at least worth attending. Man i hope no one is wasting their time with this--i'm just babbling.

*Assistant Stage Managing
**Assistant Technical Director
***Technical Director
****Carolinas Global Community, aka USC's on-campus international housing. Interestingly, all of my flatmates are American in a neighborhood intended for american students to live harmoniously with internationals... just like at Kent. I think there's a conspiracy going on.

sporting equipment

I'm fairly sure the only way to make the futility of a running machine more pronounced is to make it actually go in circles. In fact, the footholds of an elliptical cross-trainer do go in circles. Such is life. That said, i use them all the time. not because my neighborhood isn't safe or because i prefer to work out in air conditioning or out of the sun, but because of my knees.
Who'd a thunk it? I don't have the worst knees of all time but there's no sense in making them worse. Cross trainers take the impact of running away from the knees and redirect it to the hips, which makes working out much less painful. Anyone who has heard my philosophy of "pain equals no" may recognize that i appreciate this greatly. As it is my knees are troublesome joints and have a tendency to slip, often without warning. It occurred to me moments ago while climbing a staircase that the quality of my joints actually keeps me out of what would otherwise be a potentially viable career option. I am speaking, naturally, of burglary.
A quality thief must be stealthy, quick, agile, and careful. I am none of these things, but above all of these qualities is the ability to be silent. Quiet is a valuable asset in the field of cat burglary and i, however light my step or shallow my breath, can't keep my knees from creaking and giving me away. I'm the audible equivalent of a walking bowl of Rice Krispies. My inability to move without snapping, crackling, and/or popping would have the police on me in seconds.
Now i guess that inability doesn't eliminate me from the field of armed robbery, but what's the glory in that? Pointing a gun at someone and shouting "give me your money, jewels, and other valuables" really doesn't take a whole lot of skill or artistry. Whatever one's career choice, I feel they should be able to take some pride in it--whether it's in its challenge, its earnings, or at the very least its honesty. And as armed robbery is some of the most dishonest work one can come by, it is rarely challenging until you're caught, and the money invovled in it is seldom more than pocket change, one can hardly call it rewarding. Though i may reach a point in life at which i am desperate for money to eat, i'm not too proud to ask the government for help, or perhaps my parents.
And there's the rub for armed robbers--beside the criminally insane, no person who is not desperate to provide for himself would feel any inclination to threaten others' lives or well-being on the behalf of their own. Destitution is unfortunately the stomping grounds of Egocentrism--one is not selfish, but rather the individual becomes unconcerned with how their actions affect others. The world does not exist beyond the wants and needs of the individual, so they are capable of acting in ways that could be harmful to others without remorse. Armed robbers and other such pitiful individuals--subway pickpockets, credit information hackers, middle managers, sexual predators--may in fact be humanity's closest link to the primal world. They rely solely on Freud's Id to govern their actions, and do not allow conscience, reason, or knowledge to interfere. And this does make perfect sense, really, if you consider the Id's tendency to overtake the senses in moments of panic (the "fight or flight" impulse). Thus if one is habitually living in situations that would cause the body and mind to panic--say, without food where there once was food--the mind is opened to allow the Id to reign superior over the introspective--and frequently useless--mental functions such as logic and love.
With the suspension of logic comes higher instance of this id-dominated lifestyle failing. A person making rash decisons does not stop to consider the consequences of their actions--indeed, to them there Are no consequences. The only job their panicked brain has given them is to Get That which is Needed. Only when the goal has been met can the cognitive components of the brain kick in to suggest that perhaps this wasn't a great idea and it may be time to flee the scene, which of course invites panic and allows the animal centres of the brain to take over again. Really, the human parts of the brain are serious pansies. Anyway, that brief interval after the completion of a job is rarely sufficient time to mull over the consequences of one's actions and how to evade any repercussions, if necessary, so the escape route is often half-baked. Which simplifies the apprehension of criminal offenders who act out of desperation.
Which makes the apprehension of lunatics that much harder. Terrorists, serial killers, embezzlers, and spousal abusers are not desperate. They are not responding to the needs of their body--they often perform their particular crime for the sheer hell of doing it. because its fun or somehow rewarding. (or in the case of some lunatics, they feel that they will be rewarded in another life) Thus they are not acting instinctively or without prior contemplation--they are in full charge of their faculties of reason and societal interaction. They've already come up with a plan B or a means of escape. The fact that they're prepared means they're already on par with the law, and the fact that they're insane puts them a step ahead.
Er...somewhere back there i was talking about my knees. Oh well.

wikipedia

Ever had one of those instances in which you're chatting with a group for several days and occasionally topic ideas that nobody thoroughly understands crop up? and you say "oh remind me, i should look *topic* up once i get back in front of a computer." And naturally you get back in front of said computer and lose all possible recollection of what it was you were going to look up. "If you wish to forget something immediately, made a note that this thing is to be remembered."-poe

meeting new people

Opal212: i'm getting too old to meet new people
superbabeteam: umm... you are 21? 22?
Opal212: 20
superbabeteam: wow you sure are old.
Opal212: tell me about it--grey hair, wrinkles, and incurable halitosis are right around the corner
superbabeteam: go go gadget negativity
Opal212: the next time i want to meet new people is when i'm moving into my cute little suburban residence and my new neighbors are bringing over jell-o molds and offering to have a barbeque to help all the new families get settled, and i'll be the one single woman without kids standing there looking vampish and drinking gin
superbabeteam: well you have fun with that
Opal212: aw c'mon i just came up with a great visual
superbabeteam: yes, but it was depressing
Opal212: garden party with one new dad and his starter-home barbeque waving the bugs and the toddlers away from the meat and flames, moms standing around who've all gotten their hair done in the past seven hours wearing their floral capri pants putting paper plates full of potato salad on the corners of the tablecloth so it doesn't blow away, chatting about their kids and joining the PTA in two short years--and leaning against the one tree in the entire yard is me, with heavy eyeliner for three pm, with a bottle of gordon's in one hand and a cigarette in the other, disgusting and simultaneously enticing all of the young dads in the area with my low-cut blouse and tight last-season trousers...

1 Month

yep. i've been home for a month. i've also been bored senseless for a month. i think there's a correlation.

Magic America

i don't care what the song says--there are no magic people here. america is just as boring as anywhere else in the world, we're just more obstinately proud of our boredom and wish to inflict it on ourselves more thoroughly. you can't get away with jack shit here. you can't legally do anything of note until you're pretty much out of university--which is when you have to grow up and stop having fun. i don't mean to say that consumption of alcohol is the only thing worth doing, but people aren't going to hang out with you if you're not "legal."

what the hell is Legal? i can go to adult jail for participating in or attempting to participate in activities that are legal for adults. i know i've said this before but this point really drives itself home when i spent a year in a place where the word Adult meant just that--fully legal adult with the rights, priveleges, and responsibilities of any other adult. And now i'm back home. sitting home on a friday night tip-tapping away on my blog with a mug of tea and a painful spot on my nose. Because at least in my area of the world there's nothing for me to do on a friday night that doesn't involve sitting around someone's house smoking weed and/or drinking illegally, paying too much to go into a dance club to be sober and not really comfortable enough to dance, sitting around in a park drinking and/or smoking weed and hoping you don't get caught, or hanging around in a pool hall that lets in anyone and watching fifteen year old girls pushing their pubescent breasts into the faces of frighteningly predatory twenty-one year old college dropouts in the hopes of being bought a beer.

I mean, lets look at this. Friday evenings offer few options to the impoverished under-21 university student. If you want any form of entertainment that involves leaving the house, you must pay for it. Movies, plays, ballets, and operas will range in price from $6 to $200 a seat. I can't afford to watch more than two movies a semester if i still want to eat six out of seven days a week. Dance clubs generally charge $7-10 for any person aged 18-20 so they can still get some money off you even though you're barred from the bar. I've found that in Columbia, at least, the only ones that'll let under-21s in are gay clubs. And as fun as it is to be a ignored all night when you're looking cute... Restaurants are another one of those things that are hard to afford and no nice meal is complete without a bottle of wine. Bars, naturally, are out.

What does that leave for the po' student to do with him or herself? Walk around town? Not if you don't want to be arrested on charges of "suspicious activity" or mugged, raped, or kidnapped. Drive around and look at other people having fun? As cool as you'll feel then, you can also be proud of the week's worth of gas you've just burned. Parks are closed, historic places are closed, most shops are out of the picture too. Feel like going to church? Chances are you'll find doors locked and security systems activated. Hell, i bet you can't even get into your workplace to put in a few more hours.

There is no reason why anyone not aged 7 or 70 would feel any inclination or need to go to bed before ten pm on a Friday night. And the stigma of being home alone on a Friday night is enough to drive even the most sheepish of frat boys into the streets. So. you have a choice. flash your fake ID and see how many bouncers you can fool into letting you in, or you can hang around with your other youthful friends and feel like a loser. And, chances are, be bored. And what will any cop tell you about bored kids? They're gonna smash things. They are going to steal cars, draw on other people's houses, take your purse, and go smashy smashy all through the town. They're also more inclined to partake in the recreational use of illegal or heavily guarded drugs, fornicate wildly, and not ask "what would Jesus do?" before acting.

Dance clubs and bars keep people from going out and being stupid in the late evening hours. That's why they're legal. It gives people somewhere to go where they're not in the streets or in their homes to be loud and have fun and wear themselves out before going to bed. And most bars have responsible bartenders with an emergency telephone nearby for when things get out of hand. And as long as people are hitting on each other in clubs they're not stealing hubcaps off the cars outside. They're like daycare centers--except for adults, at night. Up until a person is 18 or in college it is their mum's responsibility to keep them off the street and out of trouble, but once they're out of the house its fair game. If the government is going to actively prevent ageing teens from playing in adult night-care, they better be prepared to put up with them in jail.

You know, i've also been told by a cop that since the drinking age was brought back up to 21 the number of traffic fatalities has distinctly dropped. This sounds viable until you remember that before the mid 1980's cars didn't have air bags and seat belts were not legally required. also since the age has been elevated above those of most other nations there have been major innovations in tyre safety, anti-lock brakes, cabin design, and the ability of a car to not explode on impact. If anything, American drivers of all ages have become much more careless on the road and the number of DUI offenders hasn't altered. No matter how old, a drunk driver is still a drunk driver.

I wonder how many were tourists.

Why the hell would anyone want to bomb London? The Brits aren't the Infidels--sure they're a bunch of godless drunkards but thats why we like 'em. Americans have the Wrong God, which is what makes us the bad guy--the English are kind-of a middle ground. But I have a theory as to why London got hit this time instead of us.

If America gets bombed one more time by any (non-Christian) religious nutcases, chances are Bush's itchy trigger finger will find that red button and blow the entire Islamic world off the map.

I'm not saying its right, but any terrorist should use caution in dealing with the US any further. I'm quite sure most Americans are unconcerned with innocent, sane Islamic people--they don't give a rat's ass about the law-abiding, god-fearing men, women, and children. If levelling Iraq and Afghanistan will succeed in quieting a couple of religious zealots, W would probably support it. America's "war on terror" is an acceptable title for Christianity's "war on Islam." We should really face it--whatever your reason for joining the army, you're fighting in the name of Religion. Fanatical Christians are not really evil but they are idiots like the fanatical Muslims that they so frequently condemn, with the same respect for religious diversity and human life as bin Laden. I don't think we should condone one group and condemn the other--they both piss me off and inconvenience my daily life.

Actually, when it comes to the daily life, Christians irk me more--showing up at the door and asking if i've brought jay-sus into my life, lobbying the senate and supreme court to vote against the rights of anyone who isn't a heterosexual white male. Yep--you let Political Christians (not people of faith in government, for generally a truly religious person believes in equality and attempts to be just and fair in everything they do. No, I mean people who enter into or attempt to sway government to impose their ideals and personal restrictions on everyone else) have their way and you're looking at essentially what Afghanistan has now, including stoning and burkas. I like having the right to wear a short skirt, i appreciate the option of preventing unwanted births, and i don't want to see any laws passed to justify hating or harming my gay friends. Overzealous religious people fail to recognize a very important verse in that book they love to refer to--"Thou Shall Not Judge."

If we can get these lunatics to leave us alone--I don't think a vaccine is possible but some brainwashing may do the trick--i think we'll see much lower instances of hate crime and public destruction. Perhaps this is the "apocalypse" that the bible refers to so often--the day when all the normal people just get fed up with the religious folk and either kill them or drastically alter their perception. they say that the truly faithful will be taken immediately to Heaven and all the unsaved will be left here. Good Riddance.

at its finest...

"only the mediocre are always at their best."--Neal Boortz

Damn straight I am!

Biscuits: The Lack Thereof. Discuss.

I've been on the south beach diet for two days now, and don't i know it. i never realized how hard it would be to cut out bread, pasta, and simple sugars from my daily intake. but jeebus, breakfast is my favorite meal of the day! i've been daydreaming about cereals and biscuits and toast all day while i cleaned and de-kid-ified my room. my walls are bare naked now save for some interesting bits of adornment--two giant flags (one UK, one England), a couple of posters of Alfred E. Neuman, the face of a 1970's stereo receiver that i thoroughly dismantled in middle school (it was thoroughly broken beforehand so i didn't bother trying to put it back together), my hat-rack (covered in scarves and a feather boa, oddly enough), a ceramic mask from mardi gras (arorned with shiny plastic bead necklaces), a very nearly bare corkboard (which once held everything from a dead lightbulb to superman Under-roo's in addition to outdated dental appointent notices and phone numbers with no names) and a large ornate mirror. would you believe i managed to clean out 5 big bags worth of tat from my desk, shelves, and dusty corners? i haven't even gone near the dresser or closet yet. though my mom has been getting excited about the idea for several days now--she can't wait to fill up some AmVets bags with my ill-fitting old clothes and outdated shoes. and it would make my dresser drawers open and close more easily, as well as make my closet...well, navigable. i'll have to see what becomes of that.
My sunburn from Barcelona has almost completely peeled away. i used some scrubby apricot soap in the shower today and that helped speed along the process. my life is so exciting.

taxes

back in the US of A. the last time i was this lonely was in the seventh grade. i had no idea how much fun i was having and how much i loved England until i suddenly was no longer there. Airplanes are deceitful little bastards--you get in, the floor vibrates a bit, and then you get out. for all your body knows, you never went anywhere. when you're seated in the centre of the plane you can't even watch the ocean slowly move under you so there's no proof that you're moving at all. so when you clamber up the stairs into your vaguely familiar bedroom and climb into your big, cold bed with clean linens and a somewhat sterile feel to it, its confusing as hell. you wake up in the middle of the night cold and very conscious of your solitude, look around for something vaguely reminiscent of what has become home--the battery-operated alarm clock with the large aerial that never stays upright, Leonard on the wall covered in ticket stubs, the useless cabinet over the closet--anything. but all that greets you are silly posters, a few maps and hats, and a plastic US flag dangling limply from the ceiling overhead. its like waking up in an old, dusty photo album--everything you see is a picture of your own personal history: a sudden reminder of the way things once were. but aren't anymore.
Its hard to remind myself that i'm an American. For so long i was a Foreigner--a funny-looking girl from somewhere far off and mysterious. I forgot that being from america meant that america was technically my home, and that one day i would have to return. Its not easy to rejoin my life, my friends--people who up until last week were only words on a page, informing me of current events far away. Now i find that the people i really care about have taken on the same quality--they are now, and may always be, mere words in instant messages. Its like being friends with a keyboard. saying "i love you" in 12-point times new roman just doesn't have the same effect as wrapping your arms around the body of the person you wish to tell it to and whispering it into their attuned ear.
yep. i've finished filling out my tax return (doesn't matter if its after april 15 as the Man owes ME buddy), i've started a diet with my mum and sis, and i feel like crying.

hehe

My punctuation generally comes off the faster I go, like post-it notes on a sportscar. --Ben Hollingum

cheap thunder effects

After an all-too-brief trial period of warm, clear weather, Kent decided to click "Cancel" when prompted to pay for the full subscription. The depressing haze has returned, and the constant sky-dribbling along with it. Yesterday was dominated by this--a slow, constant "bleh, you are now wet" noncommittal sort of rain. It couldn't be bothered to stop or get harder and more interesting, so it just kinda spat everywhere in that typical English way. See, England is famous for its tupperware-grey sky and the nagging rain that keeps the grass steamed-broccoli green. That's part of the reason Brits feel like leftovers; that and their little empire being knocked out from under them to make room for American global dominance. (Don't let them fool you--they still resent losing us.) The UK is not known for its extreme weather in the slightest, so when the dull dripping yesterday was suddenly punctuated by a brilliant flash and a clap of thunder like artillery fire, quite a few dove for cover. Those indoors opened their doors and windows and searched the sky--for spitfires, horsemen of the Apocalypse, or both. I must admit that a "holy shit" escaped even my lips, though this bit of atmospheric percussion wouldn't hold a candle to the drum-and-light shows put on by southern skies. In fact, this particular peal of thunder sounded somehow fuzzy and distorted, like a bass line played overloudly through cheap speakers. This repeated twice, quieter and further away, then ceased. I doubt we'll be hearing from the thunder again anytime soon after that embarrassing and disheartening performance.

Biscuits: The Greatness Of. Discuss.

Few people are capable of appreciating both the British and Southern biscuit equally. I, luckily, am one. The thin, crispy dunk-in-tea-ishness of the British biscuit and the hot, steamy buttery flakiness of an American stand side-by-side in my personal Snack Hall of Fame. Similarly, hot tea with milk and sugar bears different qualities from sweet, light iced tea, but it is difficult to decide which I prefer. Thin, flat biscuits are ideal for dunking in hot tea, but a big fluffy biscuit goes excellently in a meal with iced tea at any time of day. What we have established here is a direct correlation. If the biscuit is cold, the tea should not be, but if the biscuit is hot...well, actually, it goes with either hot or cold tea. Or coffee. or coca-cola or milk or even kool-aid. Similarly, British men correlate well with British culture, and American men with American culture--both have their perks, and both suit their specific circumstances. But where an American man is generally less desirable in Britain--they're useless for helping to understand culture, they're loud and boistrous where most people here are quiet outside of pubs, and they'll never admit that perhaps their culture and political stance are not the only "right" ones in the universe--a British man can be quite palatable in America. They're certainly something to brag about to your friends and enemies. T o have an English boy on your arm in Bum-Fuck USA--unless his mouth contains a gnarled mass of greenish tooth-like material--is to have a glittering, smooth-talking trophy. It is unfortunate that this is rarely the case for English women, but they've really asked for it by being one of the ugliest races of female on the planet. It amazes and astonishes me that British people can bring themselves to reproduce, though I guess some poor souls get desperate enough that they'll even go for sheep. Not that the typical boy here is much to look at either, but unless he's a serious cockney or chav his voice will redeem him to you and your peers. (one must search for the atypical here to find a male counterpart who is not only audibly but physically attractive. If he's also intelligent, interesting, and attracted to you, be sure to bring a net to your next dinner party--you've found a serious diamond in the rough) For some reason, the female version of the British dialect involves an unholy cacophony of shrieked and brayed curse words followed by evil cackling and incomprehensible shouting (frequently at 4 in the morning). It is inadvisable to bring one such demon-posessed donkey into the States as it will probably be confiscated at customs as a "contaminated and possibly dangerous foreign plant or animal." The male ones can Get through the gate, though, and once Your bags are in hand and you've gotten your Passport stamped, you can start impressing your neighbours. I'm not sure if the same can be said for American women in Britain, but i've been rather successful with only my mediocre looks and my watery SC accent to compete with the local Quasimodo-ettes for attention. I guess my point is...i don't have a point.

On Big Movie Stars

I never gave much of a thought to Ewan McGregor until today, but today I saw Guys and Dolls at the Piccadilly Theatre in London's West End. And I gotta say. Wow. That's one fine piece of man. He sings and dances and looks good doing it too.

Dover

castles are seriously cool. Especially ones built on a big cliffs. Big White Cliffs. of Dover.


(i took this picture 19 May 2005)

in other news, one of my housemates plays loud rap. i closed his door in hopes that it would grow quieter. he bitched at me, not because i wanted things quieter, but because I touched his door without asking. i think he's a twat.

pointless babbling

if something requires thought and/or energy and/or talent but is completely without function or use, i have decided it shall be called "Art." anything that is presented as art but does not require thought, energy, and/or talent can be disregarded as "crap."

germs

why is it that if you keep your house fairly clean and wash your hands after you go to the toilet you're more likely to get sick than people who never have? i swear i have the weakest gastric system ever. i just can't take the germs when i eat at a greasy spoon or a kebab shop (not that i've done that since i learned my lesson last term). seems that kids who grow up eating bugs and sneaking handfuls of dog food either die really young or grow up to have kevlar stomachs. i don't have any food allergies or diseases, so i think this must count as some sort of disability handling the strains of everyday life. or maybe just red meat.

phew!

i've just been travelling my little tail off this month--i spent an inordinate and unfair amount of time in paradise (Cassis, France) and putzing around London and Paris. generally had a good time, but it wasn't all fun and games--i had to go with my parents. its amazing how quickly and effectively a uni student is capable of blocking out all knowledge of having parents (besides being that distant and little-heard from ATM) but when one is forced to be in their express company for no less than two weeks one would swear that they'd developed a nervous tic. I had about four full-on migraines surrounded by a constant headache for the entire trip--though that may have been my body trying to adjust to the incredible food and clean air, i'm not sure. believe it or not, i slept in 2 fold-out beds that were much more comfortable than my school one. i'd never encountered a camp bed that was actually sleepable before this trip, but france showed me. neato. anyway. we had a nice time and i encourage everyone to get a passport and visit Cassis. you will be amazed by the water.