I can has domain name!!!!!!
www.bluelightful.com will take you right to my new blog; no need to rack your brain for Cole Porter lyrics.
This was a gift from a friend who is more than awesome.
When I get the for-real job, I promise I will find a way to give back, or to "pay it forward," as it were.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
I can has domain name!!!!!!
Friday, April 18, 2008
I've packed up and shifted my blogging home over to Bluelightful, Bluelicious, Bluelovely.
Please update bookmarks/site feeds as appropriate.
I hope all of the readers who have traveled with me here at PrettyBlueSalwar will join me at my new home!
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
I was late to class today. Not by much (the university clocktower was striking 11:00 as I ran into the building) but late nonetheless.
I was late because I didn't have anything to wear.
I didn't buy spring/summer clothes last year. While I was still in the US, I survived temping by cycling through three pairs of polyester slacks alternated with about five work-appropriate blouses. There was no air-conditioning in my apartment, so I would come home and strip to a pair of gym shorts and a tank top.
In India, I bought seven blue salwars (and one purple one -- and received one orange salwar and one silver salwar as gifts).
Long story short, there's not much in my closet that's appropriate to wear -- especially to teach -- on a warm spring day. All the temp-clothes have long worn thin. I have tried to rock a kurta over jeans, but even that just looks faded and limp, a reminder that all of my India clothes (and, in fact, all of my jeans) spent three months being washed and wrung out in a five-gallon bucket.
When I did slip into the large lecture hall, late and miserably shabby, one of the other TAs leaned over and whispered to me "don't worry, I still think you look hot."
In preparation for the upcoming move, I have started selling off seven years' worth of accumulated textbooks; I went to the theatre building lounge with a few large (and heavy) boxes, set up a makeshift display, and within the first day made $139. If I sell them all I'll have around $220. I had hoped to save the money for the move, but some of it may have to go toward clothes.
We will see.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
BombayGirl tagged me with the following meme:
First, the rules:Let's do #1 and #2 and call it a day, 'k? ^__^
- Post the rules on your blog.
- Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
- Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
- Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
Six non-important things about me:
1. Right now, I'm doing my laundry.
2. Also right now, I'm selling off seven years' worth of textbooks on Facebook. So far I've made $20, which is fantastic. If I sell them all, I'll make about $200.
3. In a moment, I am going to go to the grocery store and purchase the following items:
- Garbage bags (store brand)
- Antibacterial hand soap (store brand)
- Conditioner (Garnier Length and Strength)
- Peanut butter (store brand)
- Strawberry preserves (store brand)
- Two loaves whole-wheat bread (store brand)
- Frozen broccoli (store brand)
- Frozen "whatever other vegetable looks good" (store brand)
4. Tonight, I get to watch my favorite two hours of television: The Simpsons, King of the Hill, American Dad, and Family Guy. (I'll cook the sabzi during American Dad, because it's usually pretty awful.)
5. I've seen every episode of The Simpsons, or at least I think I have. One of these days I'll have to go through and check them off to make sure I haven't missed any.
6. The dryer's buzzing. GTG!
Thursday, April 10, 2008
... 'cause they're all the same now. ^__^
8:30 a.m.: Alarm rings on cell phone. Hit snooze. Cat begins climbing on chest, arms, face. Cat begins kneading various parts of body. Mmmmm... free massage.
8:45 a.m.: Snooze goes off, cat leaps from bed. I follow, a little more slowly. Use toilet, feed and water cat, make cup of tea.
9:00 a.m.: Open up laptop and load up new episode of House, M.D. Unfurl yoga mat. Sip tea. Work teh yogas while listening to House make sexy, smartass comments. Intersperse positions with sips of tea.
9:45 a.m.: House episode ends, hit shower. Kitty likes to join me in the shower -- not in the actual shower itself, but nearby, breathing the steam. I let her do her thing.
10:00 a.m.: End shower, get dressed, makeup, etc.
10:10 a.m.: Dry hair.
10:20 a.m.: Microwave packet of instant oatmeal. While oatmeal is nuking, grab sabzi from freezer and whip together a PB&J.
10:22 a.m.: Eat instant oatmeal while checking email, Facebook, and Google Reader.
10:35 a.m.: Turn head upside down. Brush hair. Flip head backwards (my hair now smacks against the ceiling fan when I do this). Grab claw clip. Secure hair so it does not fall in face.
10:40 a.m.: Fill backpack, grab sabzi and sandwich, pour some Crystal Light "Immunity" (featuring vitamins A, C, B, and B12) into my reusable glass waterbottle, pet kitty, check three times to make sure my space heater is turned off, leave house.
10:45 a.m.: Seriously. Leave the house. I'm going to be late.
10:47 a.m.: Drive to campus in manner of Annette Bening's character from American Beauty, singing loudly to whatever 1930s/1940s American standards I've got in the CD player. On a good day I can hit all the words in Mandy Patinkin's rendition of "It Only Happens When I Dance With You" (it's at 4:08).
11:00 a.m.: Teach, followed by class, followed by rehearsal.
11:00 p.m.: Return home.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
I can get so much mileage out of that post title. ^__^
My roommate, tired of her food getting "lost" behind, say, a gallon of milk and not being discovered again until it had started to smell, decided last night that we should separate out our food by shelf.
Our refrigerator looked pretty full to begin with; but as it turns out, 90% of the stuff in there is actually hers.
When I separated my food out onto its shelf, I discovered I had the following inventory:
1 jar peanut butter (store brand)
1 jar strawberry preserves (store brand)
1/2 loaf whole wheat bread (store brand)
Almost-empty squeezy jar of mustard (store brand)
1 jar lime-ginger pickle (Priya brand)
1 block sharp cheddar cheese (store brand)
1/2 block sharp cheddar cheese (it was a 2-for-1 sale)
Admittedly, in the freezer I have enough sabzi and gobi aloo to last another ten days, and a giant "family-size" bag of brussels sprouts which I portion out and eat along with my PBJ or cheese sandwiches.
I also have half a box of pancake mix sitting on top of the refrigerator, along with some instant oatmeal that I am not actually going to eat because I discovered too late that "sugar free" actually meant "coated in aspartame," and I can't stand the taste.
If the sabzi contains broccoli, potatoes, chickpeas, and green-and-yellow beans, and the gobi aloo contains... well, gobi and aloo... am I getting a balanced diet?
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Yep. My re-entry into American culture is 100% complete.
I've stopped dreaming about Bollywood actors.
SRK, you were lovely, really you were, but things with you were getting a little... repetitive. I mean, your smile's still great, the way you toss that lock of hair off of your forehead before you prepare to start a musical number about your love of whatever holiday your particular film centers around is still... I mean, it's charming as always. Sexy, even. I still enjoy being around you. We can still hang out.
I think it was the whole abs thing that turned me off, honestly. To tell you the truth, I'm concerned that you might have an eating disorder. Or maybe a steroid dependency. And I know that I should be there, supporting you as you go through whatever psychological problem caused all this ab-abbing, but... um, I'm just not that strong. Which is my thinly-veiled way of saying "I don't care all that much."
Because this new guy has started appearing in my dreams. I didn't mean for it to happen. I just wanted something to watch on Hulu while I did my yoga. We were just meeting for fun. He was someone I knew from when I was a kid. Someone I hadn't seen in years. I never thought... but he was so fresh and new, and let's face it, he's a lot smarter than you are.
And now he's the first thing I think of when I get out of bed in the morning. Probably because the first thing I do when I get out of bed in the morning (after feeding the cat) is yoga, but let's not talk about when and where we meet. That's none of your business.
Did Kal Penn tell you? Don't look at me like that, I know you all have a network.
No, you don't need to know his name. Or his television program. Just... stay out of our lives, okay?
Oh, but if you ever do another movie with K-Jo, call me.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Dear Senator Obama,
When I received an email from you (yes, from you directly, not from "The Obama Campaign" or anything like that) inviting me to apply for an Obama Organizing Fellowship, I was thrilled.
First of all, I was thrilled that you had even thought to ask me to apply in the first place. Secondly, I was very excited about the opportunity to potentially work on your campaign, thanks to the generosity of your Fellowship Program.
I'll tell you; I seriously considered applying, even though I knew that fellowships didn't tend to pay much and that it would mean living in penury a while longer. I would continue eating cheese-and-mustard sandwiches if it meant I got to work for you.
Then I clicked on the link and discovered that your fellowships were, in fact, unpaid. They also required a minimum of 30 hours/week time commitment.
Senator Obama, you do realize that asking the young people of this country (as I assumed your fellowship was intended for students, since it was a summer program only) -- you do realize that asking the young people of this country to apply for unpaid, nearly full-time positions on your campaign will only appeal to a particular subset of applicants, don't you?
Your Organizing Fellows will be a collection of the well-heeled, with a few kids here or there who are practically going bankrupt doing this and trying to hide it.
The fact that you didn't at least offer minimum wage, that you didn't at all try to make this opportunity possible for the students who have to work through the summers, who can't make it on a full-time volunteer gig, breaks my heart.
The fact that you are offering "fellowships" that in truth must be paid out by either the parents of these students or by the students' own credit cards and loans, astounds me.
No doubt this kind of thing happens all the time; asking for campaign volunteers is no big deal, in fact, and I've got no problem with that.
But you called it a fellowship, and insisted it be a full-time commitment.
Next time, just call it an unpaid internship and have done with it. At least the poor students of America won't get their hopes up.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
So Gaurav at Gauravonomics has decided to go "off consumption" for a year. (His chronicle of the events can be found here.)
Unlike his predecessors No Impact Man and the people at The Compact, he's not giving up consumption for environmental reasons. He's doing it to gain "insights into what drives us to consume, or not, into the nature of consumption, into human nature itself."
Oh, and he's crossing his fingers for a book deal. ^__^
I support his choice while at the same time part of me goes "What's so special about not buying stuff? Hundreds of thousands of people already know what it's like to pass by a restaurant or store window and not be able to go in, even though you really want to."
Part of me, truth be told, is jealous. I should have rewritten these past few months of enforced frugality as an "off-consumption" experiment and tried to net me a book deal.
But, as Gaurav notes, actual poverty is different from "giving up buying." Today he offered the interesting observation:
Actually, if I did have financial problems, I probably wouldn’t have been able to turn my frugality into a public performance. Only because I feel secure, in terms of both money and status, I can be confident enough to do it.The moral seems to be: when you're poor, you do what you can to appear better-off, even if it negatively affects your cash flow (e.g. buying interview clothes on credit for a job that may or may not materialize).
When you're financially comfortable, as Gaurav and No Impact Man are (No Impact Man allowed his wife to spend $1,000 on two pairs of shoes before the experiment began, to make up for the lack of shopping to follow), then frugality becomes a statement which can be worn proudly.
Gaurav, I await the riposte. ^__^
I'm busy. I start teaching at 11 a.m. and end my theatre rehearsals at 10:30 p.m. The days seem to blur into one another; despite our progress both in class and in rehearsal, it feels like I am doing, over and over, the same thing.
Thus: the busier I get with school/work-related activity, the more important it seems to be that I have some kind of alternate creative outlet, something wildly different than what I am doing the rest of the overstuffed week.
Last year at this time, it was cooking. Up through about February, it was still cooking -- but around the beginning of the year, something started to change.
At first I thought I was imagining things, but then the WSJ confirmed it: grocery prices have skyrocketed.
Milk has gone up by 26% and eggs have gone up by 24%. Grocery stores have tried to entice shoppers by cutting prices in other areas, but, as the WSJ notes:
At a Wal-Mart Supercenter in a northern suburb of Chicago, the price of a box of Little Debbie Frosted Donuts was recently reduced to $1.50 from $1.63 while a box of Sunbelt Oats & Honey granola bars was cut to $1.66 from $1.80.
But even with the promotions, the price of a basket of goods selected by Credit Suisse researchers at a Chicago Wal-Mart was up 2.5% in February compared with January. The basket price of a Target Corp. store in Chicago was up 2% and that of a Kroger Co.'s Food4Less store in Chicago was down 0.1%.
Since January 2008, I have purchased milk once: a quarter-gallon to make the quiche, and it was an event. I've purchased eggs twice this year, I believe.
I eat a lot of lentils and spinach, and when there was a sale on vegetables at the Kroger, bought a bunch and made enough sabzi to stock my freezer for a while.
So what have I been doing instead? Yoga -- and I've become obsessed. Obsessed to the point where I kind of plan my meetings around ensuring I will get an hour-long yoga break at some point during the day.
I started out doing a session in the afternoons, before rehearsal; then switched to the mornings, then realized that on certain days I could do mornings and afternoons. I've gone online and drooled over videos of ashtanga, fantasizing about a day when I could take ashtanga classes because it's supposed to be the hardest yoga ever, and learning it would be a superchallenge.
Long story short, it finally hit me: the reason I've become so interested in yoga and exploring my physical endurance is because I, literally, have nothing else to explore. I have frugalized myself down to such an extent that the only thing left is my own body. Other forms of entertainment -- shopping, movies, going to bars, going to concerts, discovering new music, even cooking -- are all out, at least until I get a post-graduation job.
On the plus side, I've got back abs. I've never had back abs before. I suppose lack of income has its benefits. ^__^
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
So I did my taxes.
I earned just over $7,000 in 2007.
And... um... lived on that.
It was interesting to find out that working full-time for four months at my temp job (three months in summer, one month after I got back from India) netted me $4,800. Had I kept that job year-round, I guess I would have made about $14,400. That's... depressing.
On the other hand, it would have essentially doubled my current salary (which, in addition to the temp job, includes my monthly graduate stipend). Considering my current lifestyle, I could have lived on $14,400 and managed to put money aside for savings. On $14,400, I could have had enough extra to buy a Wii. ^__^
On the plus side, I'm getting about $900 back from the government (not counting the "economic stimulus package"). That'll be just enough to pay my student fees for this semester.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Remember this post?
I was at a Holly Hughes lecture and talkback, and challenged a faculty member who said "students don't protest physically anymore" with the idea that online protesting and activism does as much, if not more, than previous physical campaigns; and that online protests allow people the safety of anonymity, so that they can retain their identities as students and workers without fear of recrimination.
I just heard from a classmate (in another department) that he and a faculty member (in that department) realized that no one had done a formal study of online activism and its results vs. physical activism and its results; and that they were going to spend the next year working on that project, starting article-length, of course, but testing the waters to see if it's worth further study.
That's so awesome. Also, I wish I were part of that project. Unfortunately I think my first goal right now has to be getting a paying job. ^__^
Saturday, March 29, 2008
From the same "book:"
Annalie sat somewhere in the middle third of the lecture hall. She was wedged inbetween the metal chair and its battered desk-like offspring, as well as inbetween her own backpack and the bags of the students on either side of her. Having managed to pull the miniature pretend desk out of the metal arm of the immobile chair, she had discovered that it operated on a slant, which kept her heavy Physics textbook in continual danger of sliding down into her stomach. She wondered where she would find the room to take notes, should notes ever become necessary.
Note-taking, however, wasn’t very important at the moment. Annalie was in the 10:00 section of PHY 101, “Physics and You.” The electronic registration program Annalie had worked with over the summer had suggested PHY 101 as an ideal way to fulfill part of her general education science requirement, and Annalie’s father had suggested that it was best to get all of the gen-ed stuff out of the way as soon as possible.
So Annalie sat, five minutes into the first class session of “Physics and You,” listening to the instructor explain the course syllabus. She wasn’t quite sure why the professor wasn’t really a professor but rather a graduate student who looked down at the overhead projector as he read his own syllabus aloud, and she wondered vaguely why he didn’t trust any of them to be able to read it on their own. Annalie had already been to a music history class earlier that morning, and the professor had started them right away on a discussion of the differences between music and other forms of organized sound; now Annalie was stuck in “Physics and You,” listening to a shaky-voiced graduate student explain the attendance policy. College was strange, and – in Annalie’s mind – inconsistent.
Annalie could feel a slight breeze coming from one of the open windows. She ached to go outside. She had spent most of her free time outside when not busy with the demands of Orientation Week, wandering all around the campus. She had gotten Danielle to go with her once or twice, but it seemed like whenever she stuck her head into anyone’s dorm room, they were either logged onto their computer or attached to their cell phone. Libby, in particular – Annalie could not even begin to describe how disappointed she was about Libby. She had never had a sister; only Chris, who teased her and who was too old to be a really good kind of friend (besides the fact that he was her brother, which made some kinds of friendship difficult), and although she had had several friends in high school (mostly other choir dorks like herself), she liked the novelty of having a very close, sister-type friend. Someone she might actually be able to talk to.
For a while Annalie had tried to count the number of words Libby had said to her, but somewhere around forty she lost count and stopped caring. Libby’s mouth seemed to be continually moving, but none of her words were particularly directed towards Annalie. They were directed towards Troy, Libby’s boyfriend, who went to the nearby state school and who was on Libby’s cell phone so often, it was as if he were pumping some kind of vital life force into her ear.
Meanwhile, in “Physics and You” – Annalie had gotten distracted in her own thoughts – a real cell phone rang. Half the students in the room bent down to fumble with their bags. It played through a hyper-speed version of Pachebel’s Canon in D twice before its owner finally retrieved it and turned it off, tossing her permed hair over her shoulder and saying, for the benefit of everyone in the room, “Oh my god, oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Annalie shifted in her seat as much as she could, then stopped her Physics book from exercising its rights to the law of gravity and pressing itself into her ribs. The graduate student, irritated at the phone interruption, went back to describing his grading scale. The breeze was becoming more and more imperceptible by the minute.
(Clearly I have not managed character delineation; while Miri and Anna have different backgrounds and personal struggles to resolve -- the whole book got outlined as part of the assignment -- they seem to have the same opinion and viewpoint on the gen ed experience. ^__^)
Continuing the ideas from my last post: the following is an excerpt from a project I did for an undergraduate "writing for teenagers" course. Our assignment was to write the first chapter of a book (not the book itself, mind you) which could be marketed to high-school students.
My first chapter, incidentally, was determined to be too "complex" for teenagers to understand, and was judged to contain "too many references."
I'll let the story speak for itself. (It speaks best in Firefox; it'll look all jumbled in IE.)
When Miriam had been in sixth grade, her parents had let her attend a camp for young gifted students. At the time, Miri had loved it; even the goofiness of the icebreakers and the other organized events like Pie Fight and Pajama Day. Now, however, she felt ridiculous.
She had just finished writing in her journal about Orientation Week, the oddly-chosen name for the four days before classes officially began in which first-year students were subjected to all kinds of team-building torture inbetween mini-seminars on important details such as How to Use the Library. The 120 residents of Bryson Hall had all had to run through an obstacle course, sing the Name Game Song, and then sit quietly while a university staff member explained to them how their meal plan worked.
Miri hadn’t known exactly what to expect, but she hadn’t expected this. She had, she supposed, expected something along the lines of Dead Poets’ Society, where intimidatingly charming professors engaged bright young intellectuals in stimulating discourse about life, truth, and the hidden secrets of literature.
Of course, Dead Poets’ Society was actually about a prep school.
This, however, had never appeared in any movie or book about college life that Miri could remember – the experience of being told how to do everything, from using an online card catalog (with which Miri was already rather familiar) to making new friends (Risa had already divided the third floor into clusters, and at the end of each day the clusters met for a few moments to talk about their experiences and play more goofy games). In the meanwhile, there seemed to be continual candy. The RAs were practically plying them with candy. In cluster meetings, every time a resident was able to call anyone else by her correct name, Risa threw that person a Tootsie Pop or a Mini-Snickers. Candy and ice cream and freezer pops – it was still much too warm in the un-airconditioned dormitory.
Miri was baffled, and more than disappointed. She had applied to college, but found herself back in summer camp.
(Yes, before anyone asks, she's got the same name as my cat. ^__^)
Thursday, March 27, 2008
While I was directing Tempest in Hyderabad, I wrote a few posts about the idea of process vs. product. We know, for example, that "process-based" rehearsals are often more fun, but that "product-based" rehearsals often yield better results for an audience.
(For the uninitiated: "process-based" refers to a system which allows the actors in a performance to create "freely," without any fear of being right or wrong; while "product-based" refers to a system which focuses on eliminating certain choices in favor of better ones, and, while not necessarily dividing things into right/wrong, requires a director to say the dreaded word "no" to an actor -- often many, many times.)
I'm going to write about process v. product in terms of my current theatre production shortly, but right now I want to focus on the idea of process v. product in the classroom.
As a TA, I generally get a section or two of "Introduction to Theatre" every semester. It's the typical American gen-ed course, in which students are exposed to the barest fundamentals of a subject in the name of furthering liberal education.
Like many gen-ed courses in the humanities, this Intro class follows an almost entirely process-based method of teaching (and grading). Effort counts more than result, and participation is valued over content. Papers are graded on whether they answered every question in the prompt, but not on what those answers actually are.
(Incidentally, even though our students were told, repeatedly, that their grade was based on whether or not they addressed every question in the prompt, many wrote papers which did not answer -- or even hint at -- one or more of the questions. Baffling.)
Just as a process-based play is easier to direct, a process-based class is much easier to teach. Everyone feels great, lots of people get As, good times are had by all.
However, today I spent a few hours grading my students' "ten-minute play assignment." (The assignment was... um... to write a ten-minute play.) Because they fulfilled the structure of the assignment (they had characters, speaking some dialogue, with some stage directions) I sat and wrote "nice job! 100%!" on student plays which were, in fact, dismal.
I wished I had the time to sit down with my students and talk to them about what makes a successful play; how to create conflict between characters, how to create believable rising action, how to build to an appropriate climax and resolution. Even more than that, I wanted to talk to them about the very nature of storytelling. Why do we tell stories? What differentiates a story from, say, an anecdote -- or from a description of an event? (Many of these plays were just that: descriptions. Two guys sitting in a dorm room talking about girls and sports and cars for ten pages. No conflict, no momentum.)
I know that the assignment was pure process-based, intended to give students an idea of what playwrights do by having them write a play -- but if the product they turned in wasn't actually a play, then did they really learn anything by going through the process?
But we don't have time to teach them how to really write a play, because next week we're moving on to acting, then directing, then design...
I remember being infuriated at this when I took gen ed courses as an undergrad. I recognized all these easy-peasy courses as simulacrum of the real thing, and I wanted the real deal. I didn't want "Physics and You;" I wanted physics. Eventually, I gave up and decided I wanted to play Earthbound (and write a three-act opera based on Les Liaisons Dangereuses), and became grateful for any gen ed course easy enough to require no mental effort.
I know I've written about this before on this blog, but this whole thing... makes me sad. It also makes me feel like a really bad teacher.
People have been telling me, throughout my entire university career, that I need to spend less time worrying about product and more time experiencing the process. "Put that intellect aside; roll around in the unknown!" Lord knows I tried. I gave up what I knew made sense, and I rolled. But as I approach the end of my graduate career, I'm becoming more and more infuriated with anything that doesn't actually connect process to product. Let's lay it on the line, team: some products are better than others. How do we create them? How do we teach people to create them? That, at the end of all this, seems to be what's important.
I've been thinking, lately, about the name of this blog.
When the blog began, it was a travelogue; the name "pretty blue salwar" came, in part, from an idea expressed in Madhur Jaffrey's Climbing the Mango Trees:
Kamal returned with suitcases full of fashionable gifts for all of us. I received a pair of pedal pushers and a black-and-white-striped T-shirt that practically became my uniform. She also presented me with a light tartan shawl and a sterling silver charm bracelet with the Eiffel Tower dangling from it. [...] I had yet to see the rest of the world, but, already armed with a pair of pedal pushers, the charm bracelet, and the Coke, I felt that phase of my life had to be just around the corner. (Jaffrey 237, 240)I had yet to see the rest of the world, but, armed with a blue salwar I bought on eBay...
Now the name is no longer representative of the purpose of the blog. Not, perhaps, that the blog has a purpose. I still stand by my post-trip statement that I will continue blogging because "life is a continuous travelogue" (and, of course, because I enjoy blogging and enjoy meeting new people via blogging). But, even if my blog is about life-experienced-as-journey, it isn't, anymore, about a pretty blue salwar.
The other drawback of the blog's current name is that, every once in a while, it draws people who aren't aware of its original purpose and who see these random posts by a white woman in a salwar and then tell me what a horrible person I am for exotifying Indian clothing.
It seems at this point I have three options:
1. Keep the blog's name as it is; possibly put something on the "About Me" section explaining the title.
2. Change the name of the blog, but keep the "prettybluesalwar.blogspot.com" URL.
3. Start an entirely new blog with a new name: Blue Ink, Bluewords, BlueBlog, Blue's Clues, etc.
The problem with the last option is that I would seem to lose all of the relationships I had built since I started blogging. At the least, I would lose my Technorati ranking (which isn't that big to begin with, but...). On the other hand, people who are currently following this blog could easily switch their bookmark or RSS to its new URL/feed. I wouldn't change my handle, and would continue to post on all of your blogs as Blue.
It would be... like moving to a new house, and sending round a forwarding address.
What do you think? Should I move away from the salwar association and start a new blog under a less contentious name? Or is the salwar still pretty enough to wear, even though I'm no longer a world traveler?
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Last week my graduate class had a special guest: one of the original founders of our theatre department.
Prior to his lecture, he wanted to get to know a bit about the current class of grad students, and went around to all of us asking about our backgrounds, what kind of theatre we liked, and where we hoped to direct after graduation.
I was the last to respond, hoping that he might skip me or something. After all, there were the other grad students saying things like "I'm going to start a theatre company in rural America and provide art to people who don't otherwise get that experience," or "I'm going to go to New York and take my chances in the big leagues!"
But he didn't skip me. "You're in your final semester? Congratulations! What do you plan to do after you graduate?"
I didn't let my voice waver for a minute. "I'm going to relocate to a major city, probably the DC area, and transfer my talents to a job in a private industry. I'd love something in PR or Events Management."
"Oh," he said. "Why not theatre?"
And then I got a little chicken. The truth is, I know enough about my skills to know that, while I am a competent director on my own merits, I am in no way set up for the competitive theatre world, nor do I want to spend my time working crap jobs and doing one of the "next step" options: assistant directing "for the experience," trying to start an unpaid theatre company, etc.
But I didn't say "I'm getting out of the theatre because I'm not good enough."
I said "I feel like I've become disconnected from the world, and I need to spend some time back in the world before I direct my next piece."
Which was probably an even dumber thing to say, because his next response was a very disappointed "Theatre... makes you feel disconnected?"
And as soon as he said it, I realized my response was truer than I realized. Theatre does make me feel disconnected from the world. It shouldn't, but it does. For three reasons:
1. The theatre artist's schedule is generally "work (or take/teach classes) all day, rehearse all night." The environment quickly becomes insular and restricting.
2. 90% of the plays performed in America, at both the educational and professional levels, are revivals of "classics." Often, directors attempt to spin these plays so that they have a contemporary relevance, but... putting Henry V in modern dress so people will be reminded of the Bush administration is barely groundbreaking. All of the productions of Henry V in the past eight years don't have the impact of a single showing of Fahrenheit 9/11.
3. Due to both schedule and monetary restrictions ('cause we don't make any money), the theatre artist cannot fully participate in the world around her.
And that's what I really want, and I didn't even realize it until I said it. I want to be a participant. I don't want to live like the former child Blue, reading her parents' copies of Newsweek to memorize details about film and literature (and yes, theatre) that she was thousands of miles too far away to ever see; nor do I want to live like starving artist Blue, in Minneapolis and surrounded by culture and opportunity but too underemployed to afford any of it.
I want to be a participant. More than that, I want to be a consumer. This isn't a popular statement to make, in lieu of environmental concerns, but I don't mean that I want to be wasteful, or consume beyond my needs.
I don't want a lot of shoes, but I want to be able to replace my shoes when there are holes in the soles. (While I had the foot cast on, I spent the entire six weeks wearing a shoe with a big hole in it because that was the only one which matched the sole height of the foot-cast boot.) I don't want to buy a lot of overpackaged, overprocessed food, but I do want to have money to socialize with friends in restaurants.
I want to take a yoga class. I want to find time to volunteer for something interesting and worthwhile (which I kind of did already -- just signed up for the American Democracy Project). If I make it to DC, I'm definitely finding some way of volunteering for Team Obama.
I also want to get a little closer to current technology. I have a secret fantasy of being able to become an early adopter, but I know it will take a few income-level jumps before I get to that stage. Right now I don't even have a phone that takes photographs. ^__^
Long story short, I want to be a participant in the world, not an observer. And theatre, as enjoyable as it is, makes me feel disconnected.
Which is strange, because historically theatre people are supposed to be the types who are engaged with the world and use their talents to spur social change. Did that stop happening, outside of theatre textbooks? Or... has it all been transferred to YouTube?
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Whatever I've got... don't get it.
Officially, it's bronchitis. But... damn. This thing is wiping me out.
When I'm not in class or at rehearsal, I'm sleeping. I can't take two steps w/o coughing.
And -- tragedy of all tragedies -- I can't do yoga.
This from a person who was still doing yoga with a friggin' cast on her foot, modifying positions as necessary, including a full quota of "girl push-ups" ('cause I couldn't do the regular kind with the cast), which aren't yoga but are evidently the best indicator of physical fitness out there.
It's been eleven days since I first fell ill (and fell quickly, too -- was watching a movie with my sister and felt fine at the beginning, but ended up feverish, shaking, and coughing by the end). Two days ago I thought I was well enough to try yoga again, if for no other reason than mild physical activity seemed like it might help speed up the recovery. (I also get cranky when I don't exercise.)
So I raised my arms above my head to start a sun salutation... and set off a fit of coughing.
I bent over to touch my toes and set off another fit of coughing.
Evidently movement = coughing (even stretching = coughing), which makes exercise a problem.
Which means that I am very, very cranky right now.
My body has also betrayed me recently in terms of its rapid hair growth; very nice when it's on my head, less so everywhere else. Sally Hansen promised me I would be hair-free for five to eight weeks; I was hair-free for less than two. The waxing job lasted for exactly thirteen days; stubble started turning up about the same time I caught the bronch. Now I'm all fuzzy again.
'Cause bending over to shave... starts a coughing fit.
*facepalms... then coughs.*
Monday, March 17, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Wow. Nearly a week after I tried to get YouTube to embed this video onto the blog, it shows up!
Here's the related post.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
About four months ago, I had my first ever Apple Store experience. A friend took me in to the Apple Store Chicago, and at first I was all "why are we going into this computer store?" and then I found that it was filled with wonderful toys that you could touch and play with and cheerful staff who greeted us upon arrival and ran around happily explaining the features of each Mac product even before we had to ask. "Have you tried tapping the iPhone? Have you tried tapping it twice?"
Today, as I had promised to do in an earlier post, I went back to the Apple Store -- this time the DC version.
But this time it was not at all the same.
First of all, no one greeted me when I came in the door. In fact, no one noticed me. I tried to flag down an employee, but I couldn't tell who any of them were. Finally I figured out that they were the scruffy, kind of desultory-looking people wearing dark blue shirts. They were all busy either behind a register or at the Genius Bar; a few were on the floor, but they were assisting other customers.
So I found a computer and signed up for a Personal Shopper, since I assumed that was why some of the other customers had helpers. The next time slot was fifteen minutes away. The computer said that my name would be called when it was my turn, so I decided to settle in and start playing with the toys.
The second thing that troubled me was that very few of the toys were turned on. The majority of the laptops and iPhones weren't connected to the internet, and none of the iPods had sample earbuds attached. I found the single working iPhone and poked at it for a few minutes, but it wasn't all that fun.
My appointment time came and went, and no one called my name. No one called anyone's names. I started trying to catch the eye of one of the employees. No one would look at me, although a few people looked at my shoes. Finally, twenty minutes after my appointment and almost an hour after I had arrived in the Apple Store, someone asked me if I needed some help.
I mentioned that I had signed up for an appointment, and they were instantly apologetic, explaining that they were understaffed today... people had quit, some people hadn't shown up. In the end they hauled out one of the managers, who gave me a thorough tour of all of the laptops, but by then I felt pretty bad for him since I wasn't going to buy anything today anyway, and he knew it.
We did have an interesting conversation, however, about the MacBook Air. The manager was explaining to me all the virtues of the itty-bitty super-slender Macbook Air, and how the only thing you had to buy to go along with it was the $400 external hard drive.
"So I can't just... um... plug a thumb drive into this thing? Or any other external hard drive?" I asked.
"No." He looked at me like I was an idiot. "You have to buy this one."
Then I started asking "where's the speakers? where's the microphone jack? how do you burn a DVD on this thing?"
As I expected, all the parts of a laptop you might want to use were sold separately, at $100-500 a pop. The MacBook Air itself was a glorified paperweight, and an insubstantial one at that. ^__^ (Yes, I am ready for all MacBook Air-lovers to attack.)
"Do you see this as the future of laptops?" I asked my personal shopper. "In two years are they all going to be like this?"
"Probably," he said.
"You guys are brilliant," I said, winking. "Getting people to pay extra for all the stuff that used to come in a laptop for free."
Of course, there are benefits to this model, namely that if one thing breaks, you don't have to replace the entire laptop. ^__^ So it isn't completely bad. In fact, having a laptop shell (or... um... eggshell) that you can modify (and upgrade) as you want, pulling things in and out of the USB port as if it were a fast-processing Mr. Potato Head, probably will be beneficial -- and kinda cool -- in the end.
Still: at the end of the day, my time in the Apple Store was surprising and a little depressing. Does anyone know if there's something up with Apple? I mean, a year ago it was one of the best places to work retail (in terms of employee creativity, status, and pay scale) and the employees were, for the most part, happy. But the employees I saw today were overstressed and, worse, undercoiffed. They didn't look healthy, they didn't look taken care of, and they didn't look happy to be there.
Is it 'cause of the recession thing (is Apple, like everyone else, cutting back), or is there something else going on?
Here are a few snapshots from my DC adventure:
* Going into an interview and hearing "You put on your resume that you type 100 wpm. Is that really the truth, or aren't you exaggerating a bit?" "I've been clocked at 100," I say with a smile. "Well," my interviewer tells me, "we'll give you a chance to prove it." After the test is over he comes back, astonished. "98 wpm and not a single mistake!"
* While I'm blitzing through the standard "prove you know Microsoft Office" tests, suddenly realizing that there are job interviews out there that don't require you to prove you can do a mail merge, and that later on this week, I'll be going on one of them. ^__^
* En route to the Apple Store, helping a group of very old, very giddy British ladies navigate the Metro -- from the turnstile to their eventual landing at Fashion Centre. No doubt they're here to take advantage of the falling dollar; one of them spends the entire Metro ride bursting out with little fits of happy "shopping, shopping, shopping!" Followed by "how many more stops?"
* Taking a breather at the Fashion Centre food court (to rest my foot) next to a group of young people involved somehow with our military (couldn't tell whether they had yet gone to Iraq, but they were clearly the troops in "Support our Troops"). They were talking about other young people in the military they knew who had committed suicide. They knew a lot of people who had committed suicide, mostly after returning from Iraq. "It's usually the really young ones who do it," one of them said. "The ones who haven't started families yet." It was a very sad conversation.
I first noticed it this morning, when I went in for my first interview of the week.
The look starts at the top of the head: sleek, shiny hair, pearls, crisp dotted-swiss blouse, decent suit, tidy manicure... and then it stops.
The eyes wrinkle. The meaning is clear.
What are these horrible shoes doing on this poor girl's feet?
I didn't think they were that bad when I bought them. Sure, they have the telltale orthopedic sole, but they don't really look like old lady shoes, right?
Yet in a world where every other woman is wearing calf-length stiletto boots, these shoes are 100% wrong.
I kept getting the look, particularly as the day wore on and my foot started to tire out. Of course, by then the look was changing from what's with the terrible fashion choice? to poor thing, there's obviously something wrong with her.
So I've got to figure out some way of preventing people from ever noticing my shoes. This might involve a longer pant cuff, or a distractive measure like a sudden burst of conversation.
It's a shame that I can't wear a handicapped tag like the one I currently have on my car. Something that says "Inside this ugly shoe is a toe that is still, technically, broken; the bone has only formed a hard callus and will take another month or so to fully heal."
Then there should be an asterisk with the note "And she was not drunk or anything like that when she broke it!" ^__^
Sunday, March 9, 2008
I'm traveling today... it's time for the DC Interview Tour.
Interestingly, I was in DC this time last year, though for different reasons.
If anyone will be in the area and wants to get in touch, well... you know how to reach me.
(BTW -- sorry I haven't responded to some of the recent comments, esp. the ones from new commenters... will do so when I've got a smidge more time. ^__^)
Friday, March 7, 2008
My laptop crashed four times today.
It's a Compaq Presario M2000 series. Runs XP. The hard drive was completely replaced last year because... well, the guys said, "It's crashed so many times that your hard drive is completely worn out. Oh, and it's full of viruses."
I invested in some better anti-virus software (the university gives us all some free stuff, but clearly free wasn't doing the job), and haven't had a problem with viruses since.
However, my computer is crashing again. Repeatedly and annoyingly. Not to mention that since the beginning of the year, there's been some kinda problem with the monitor in which all of the parts of the screen that are supposed to be white show up pink, and all the parts that are supposed to be black show up green.
I've been telling myself "it only has to last for eight more weeks" (eight being the number of weeks until graduation), and have started backing up assiduously. In truth, it probably has to last for a little longer than eight weeks, since I probably won't be able to replace it until I get some money, and I won't be able to get some money until I get a job, etc. etc. etc.
But lord-a-mercy this is annoying. It took me twenty minutes this morning to print a paper for class.
If I have some time during my DC tour, I'm going to hit up an Apple Store. (And I've got to figure out if this "make a reservation for a Personal Shopping Assistant" deal is free.) Obviously I'm not going to buy anything; I've got $271.21 in my bank account and it's got to last through April. But I... want to fantasize about buying something.* Actually, I want to begin to look at my options. There must be an Apple employee ready and willing to talk about reasonably-priced laptops for the newly graduated.
'Cause it's going to be a Mac this time, people. Seriously.
* I also want to play with the iPhones. Did you know that in those Apple stores, they just let you... play with all the stuff, for as long as you want? ^__^
Thursday, March 6, 2008
I haven't done an education post in a while, but a recent conversation brought this to mind.
To wit: we were having a discussion in our theatre class about whether or not you can present an audience with material that they might not understand right away. Specifically: if a play uses a reference that an audience might not get, do you cut the reference? If an entire scene might be too "over their heads" for university undergrads, do you cut the scene?
I've had this argument in other classes as well. Once I took a "writing for teenagers" class where the professor insisted I remove almost all cultural references from my story since "most teenagers haven't read the books you've read or listen to the music you listen to." (This was years before Family Guy and Juno and our current trend of inserting as many references into a creative work as possible.)
Her argument was that teenagers would read my work and become alienated/bored because they didn't know why a particular composer was important to the story's characters. My argument was that including unfamiliar references in a creative work -- whether literary, theatrical, or otherwise -- actually inspired learning; it forced the reader to interact with the material because it was no longer a matter of simple understanding. Whether the reader created his/her own meaning via context clues, or whether the reader hauled out the dictionary to look up the meaning, the reader was actively working with the text and actively learning from it.
(In the class, of course, I cut the references from my stories. Profs give the grades, after all. But I still believe in my argument.)
I wanted to share this clip with you because it was from my favorite childhood television program, Square One TV. I started watching this show when I was six years old and continued watching until it went off the air when I was thirteen.
(I've been trying to get the video to embed for about an hour now. YouTube doesn't wanna let me embed it. Until I can get the vid up, watch it here.)
Note the references packed into just the first few minutes of this clip:
Missing person? No, missing avis.
Roscoe "Fatty" Tissue.
And that's even before you get to the math. None of them are references a six-year-old would understand; few of them are references a thirteen-year-old would understand. But the words enter our heads, and years later if we read a reference to Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle we know, without having to look it up, that he was an entertainer and comedian whose career ended in scandal.
Long story short: leave the references in. A reader/audience member shouldn't have to understand everything about a piece right away. If they're the eager type, they'll go home and Wikipedia Soupy Sales or the Texas Two-Step; if they're not interested at the moment, the references will still provide them with a cultural background which will return to their memories at surprising moments.
It's worth noting, unfortunately, that PBS no longer shows children's programming more complex than Postcards from Buster, and even the highly meta Sesame Street has devolved into the over-obvious Elmo's World. (Early episodes of Sesame Street are sold on DVD with the note that they are no longer determined educationally appropriate for children. Wow.)
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
For a long time, I budgeted on spreadsheets. I'd have to enter everything manually (sigh), sort it manually (sigh), and set up all the formulas myself (okay, I think spreadsheet formulas are really cool, so I didn't mind that too much).
Yet I continually thought "oh, if only there was a program that could take the transactions directly from my bank statement and staple-sort them itself!"
Turns out there are a kajillion of those kind of programs. After some research, I went with Wesabe. You upload your bank statement (alternatively, you can choose to give Wesabe your bank passwords and have it do automatic uploads, but I chose the manual upload option, which keeps Wesabe out of my bank account, even though I have to re-upload every week or so to maintain accurate information), and Wesabe sorts your purchases by type and provides all kinds of graphs to illustrate your spending habits.
Now, I know that Wesabe is kindly providing this free service so it can get its grubby little paws on my spending preferences. Probably very useful for Wesabe to know whether or not its users spend more at Walmart or at Meijer, etc., and to know whether they buy gas on weekdays or weekends. However, it's a free service, and somebody's going to get that information anyway, so it might as well be someone who gives me a few really cool graphs in exchange.
With Wesabe, I found out that every month, I spend on average:
$137 on groceries
$70 on gas (this has got to stop)
$130 on utilities
$93 on car insurance
$16 on restaurant food (i.e. anything I don't cook myself)
$6 on entertainment (which is actually the three movies I saw in January totaling $18... no entertainment spending since...)
Oh, and I've spent $392.10 on the DC interview tour, which includes the plane ticket, clothing, and a new pair of shoes.
I am officially tired of being poor.
Monday, March 3, 2008
While I was shopping for my leg wax, I also made a stop in the deodorant aisle. (Note to readers: this was not an "impulse buy;" I always shop with a list -- and who impulsively buys deodorant, anyway?)
Like I've done for the past year or so, I scanned the products -- and rescanned -- hoping to find my favorite brand, Crystal Clean. It wasn't there. It's never there. The internet says they're still selling it, but I haven't seen it in a supermarket for ages.
Then I saw something quite unexpected. To wit: deodorants "for ladies" generally come in two kinds of scents: floral and beach. Floral is self-explanatory; the beach deodorants, however, never smell like sand, or salt water, or fish, or anything like that. They smell like "Caribbean Cool," which isn't a recognizable scent at all, but at least it covers up the B.O.
Anyway. I'm getting off track. In the middle of all the "Sweet Pea" and "Ocean Breeze" and the occasional "Powder Fresh," I saw a deodorant that claimed it smelled like something fabulously different.
Yes, Secret just launched its "Vanilla Chai" line, and to its credit was presenting the scent in glittery, girly colors as opposed to, say, the blatant cultural travesty of Caress' "Exotic Body Wash." (OMG it smells like sandalwood!)
But seriously. Chai? As an underarm scent? Do people really want to raise their arms and be reminded of a hot beverage?
Since my mission is to "test-drive corporate multiculturalism so you don't have to," I bought a stick of chai deodorant and went home. Here is my (highly scientific) report:
Secret Platinum "Vanilla Chai" Deodorant is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike chai.
It doesn't smell a thing like genuine desi chai; it smells nothing like Lipton faux-chai; it doesn't even smell like the monstrosity that is Starbucks chai.
It smells, if it smells like anything, like the goo that comes out of a gas-station cappuccino machine; a gritty combination of sugar and vanilla with a little coffee thrown in. (How can a deodorant smell "gritty," you might ask? Trust me.) It's the only deodorant I've ever put on that makes me feel like I need to brush my teeth.
The smell lasts all day, which is... what it's supposed to do... but I can't say I'm a huge fan. I guess I'm stuck with it until the stick runs out.
Anyone else try this stuff?
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Preemptive Editor's Note: Blue would like to preface this by stating quite firmly that she supports wholeheartedly the natural state of both the female and the male of our species: hirsute. However, she understands that many people -- e.g. employers -- do not share this sentiment. This is her response.
While I was in India, I stopped shaving my legs. The bucket bath was not conducive to a daily shaving, and I'm the kind of girl who will revert back to stubble within 24 hours.
I stopped shaving my legs, and my underarms, and didn't miss it for a moment. Of course, I was fortunate in that all of my pretty blue salwars hid the furriness. I loved that I could go from "just woken up" to "ready to face the world" in fifteen minutes.
When I returned to the US, I started shaving again. I hated it. Not the smooth legs vs. furry legs business, but the act of shaving itself. It was time-consuming, repetitive, and I nicked myself far too often. I found myself seeking out excuses not to shave my legs: well, I'm wearing jeans today, etc.
Then I found the best excuse of all: my broken toe. As I had to shower with one leg taped into a plastic garbage sack, shaving was clearly not an option.
So here I was, with a month's growth of hair on my legs, dreading the idea of going back to shaving. Then I had an inspiration.
Enter Sally Hansen and her Lavender Spa Body Wax Hair Removal Kit. I figured that since I had already done the hard work of growing out the leg hair, the least I could do was see if waxing really kept it off "for 5 to 8 weeks."
My first thought was to get it done by a professional, but even the college student joints wouldn't do a wax for less than $70, and Sally was only $9.99.
So last night I stripped to my skivvies, sat on a flattened 20-gallon trash bag (to catch the spills), and waxed my legs.
It took just about 90 minutes, and I distracted myself by watching episodes of CSI on Hulu. I found it a lot easier to pull out my hair by the roots if I was trying to figure out who the killer was before Grissom did. All said and done, however, it wasn't all that painful. I mean, it was a little uncomfortable, but it didn't hurt anything like some of the stuff I've been through recently.
The wax was really messy, but it got the job done. I would definitely urge anyone considering a DIY waxing to set out some plastic or something for the mess. I was also using the internet trick of dousing my legs liberally with baby powder before applying the wax (theoretically the wax will stick to the hair, but leave the skin untouched), and so my trash bag station was soon covered with drips and powder.
And there's nothing cooler than pulling off a strip and seeing exactly what hundreds of hair bulbs look like.
I know that people consider leg waxing to be one of those horrible things women do to oppress themselves, but -- barring my switch to reusable menstrual products -- this was the 100% most liberating thing I've done as a woman in a long time. I've solved a problem and now I shouldn't have to deal with it for five-to-eight weeks. That's fantastic.
I'll let you know when it all starts to grow back.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Since I received my lovely slow-cooker, my cooking routine has become extremely streamlined.
1. Wash dal
2. Dump dal in slow-cooker
3. Add veg
4. Add water
5. Go to sleep...
But a person can only live on dal and rice for so long. Even with a variety of vegetables.
So when I heard Jon Stewart mention quiche during the Oscars, I turned to my roommate and said "I wanna make a quiche!"
I thought it would be extremely difficult, but it was super-easy. I added fresh broccoli (since it was on super-sale at the grocery store) and a can of diced tomatoes, drained. Heated up cumin, garlic, and crushed red pepper in some oil, added the broccoli and tomatoes, got 'em all spicy, and then added them to a bowl which contained eggs, milk, and shredded cheese. Stir it all up, and pour it into ready-made pie crusts... then into the oven at 350 degrees for one hour, and I had two colorful, tasty quiches!
If I had a camera, there would be pictures... but imagine orange and green and red inside a nice brown crust.
Making quiche is a lot more expensive than making dal rice (by "a lot more" I'm talking $7 instead of $3), but it was great to get a protein source from something besides a lentil. ^__^
Posted by Blue at 5:49 PM
I've had the pins out of my toe for four days now.
No more cast, though I do wrap the top half of my foot in the equivalent of an Ace bandage so the healing toe is kept close and tight with its buddies.
The first two days were extremely painful, as my foot re-adjusted to its new surroundings (and lack of pins), but yesterday I woke up without pain, and it hasn't hurt since.
I can walk quickly again, and I can walk without getting tired. This is delightful, after five-odd weeks of shuffling around and measuring "should I go to the library?" by how many steps it would take to get there and how many I had already taken that day.
The weirdest part of all of this is feeling my big toe wiggle again. The break was below the knuckle joint (and in fact the bone never completely broke through -- that's why I was able to wiggle the toe even after it was broken, and why I put off going to the doctor for a week, since the old adage is "if you can wiggle it, it ain't broke"). After being completely immobilized for over a month, bending or wiggling the toe sets off all kinds of funny alarms in my nerves.
I don't do it deliberately, because the Ace bandage doesn't encourage it, but I find my toes instinctually responding like they used to; i.e. moving like a foot, instead of a block of wood, and so every once in a while the toe curls up without my thinking about it, and then it's kind of fun to feel the nerves react.
It's great to be able to take a shower without having to wrap my leg in a plastic bag. The skin on my entire foot is still really dry and scaly, despite my use of loofah and moisturizer, and for some reason there are several hard yellow calluses on the sole of the foot.
The toenails seem not to have grown at all, strangely enough. I found this out when I went to clip my toenails this evening; the unaffected foot needed clipping badly, but the other foot didn't have nails long enough to clip. That part I don't understand.
Anyway, I'm doing really well and am so glad to be back on my feet again. ^__^
Friday, February 29, 2008
Two days ago, someone at my university discovered a piece of graffiti written in Sharpie inside a bathroom stall.
The message was determined to be a potential threat to university safety.
Campus officials responded by (among other things) increasing police presence on campus and sending a university-wide email announcing that students who do not wish to come to campus during this potentially dangerous time cannot be penalized for missing class.
As this email went out, the campus became awash in threatening graffiti. Students woke up to find "you're next" written on their dorm room doors. Emergency residence hall meetings were called, to try to establish some kind of safety guidelines for residents. The graffiti didn't stop.
I'm of a cynical mind, and my instant reaction is "midterms begin next Monday, and someone -- or a group of people -- is trying to get the university to shut down the campus."
The undergraduates, however, have told me that they are legitimately afraid. Never mind that this additional graffiti appeared alongside the university's "you can skip class" policy; never mind that none of the previous school shootings have been predated by a graffiti outbreak. The undergrads are afraid, and they have good reason to be.
One student even asked me where the safest place would be in a lecture hall, in case of a shooting. Near the door (for possible escape), in the center (surrounded by a mass of bodies, able to duck and hide behind a row of chairs), in a far corner (potentially inconspicuous)??? I didn't have an answer for her.
What does a university do in a case like this? Clearly, if something were to happen, they would be liable. They also want to ensure student safety, and so taking some kind of proactive action is both appropriate and necessary.
At the same time, announcing that students can skip class if they feel afraid (and, in fact, do not need to write their professors any note explaining or acknowledging such fear; they can simply not show up, which essentially meant carte blanche for anyone who missed class today) would seem to offer students a seductive opportunity: want to get out of midterms? grab a pen...
I guess we don't know where to sit in a lecture hall anymore, or what to do in response to threatening messages.
What would you do, if you were a university administrator? What would you do if you were a student?
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Today I had the chance to meet Holly Hughes, making this the third of the infamous NEA Four I've met in person. (Memo to John Fleck: wanna do lunch?)
Hughes gave a talk about performance art as a political act, which evolved into a group discussion of the state of activism in the US.
One of the older faculty members made the following comment: "No one wants to be a public activist anymore. Everyone goes online and does these clicky-clicky things, but that's anonymous and impersonal. No one's willing to go out there and be an activist in their body, and take that public risk in front of everyone."
Immediately I responded that these online "clicky-clicky things" had perhaps spurred more political change in the past few years than any physical act; the internet brought down George Allen, Dan Rather, and Rick Santorum, just to name a few. The internet revealed the true horrors of the Saddam Hussein execution. As soon as the Clinton campaign "leaked" pictures of Obama in "his native clothing," the internet was there to call bullshit.
Another faculty member said "But it's not activism if you're online doing it anonymously. To be truly political, you have to put your name and your face and your body out there."
It soon became a split discussion. The "young people" argued that online activity has done plenty to further political and social change (where would Obama be without the internet?), and that the impersonality of a laptop was more than overcome by the connectivity of an online group. The anonymity of the internet also afforded those of us who might be unable to participate politically "in the body" (we're all worried about employers finding out, after all) to take part under an assumed identity -- an identity which, online, became as public as one's real name.
And the "older people" told us to stop dinking around on the internet and go out there and march, even if it meant losing our jobs or getting sprayed with tear gas.
The trouble, I think, is that the internet generation has seen marches. People have been marching on Washington since the beginning of the Iraq War (that'd be five years now), and nothing has changed. We saw Cindy Sheehan protest, physically, outside of GWB's ranch... for three years.
We've also seen people who try to politicalize the physical get fired, get tased, and -- in some cases -- get detained "indefinitely." As students, we could be expelled for protesting the building of a parking garage, or see our politically-themed play canceled (with the administration asking us to saw all of our prop guns "in half," lest someone go into the prop shop and use a whole prop gun to threaten someone).
But we can put an anonymous video online and watch it go viral, we can bring down a candidacy while posting entirely under avatars, and we can organize everything from flash mobs to bone marrow registry drives.
Okay, okay, I know those last two involve physical actions. ^__^ But the moral of the story is this: perhaps we don't feel the need to put our bodies on the line because we have the capability to put the truth online.
And the truth will set us free.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Here's a quick update, before I dash off to a rehearsal:
* I did not win the Oscar pool. This disappointed me greatly, because I am ridiculously competitive. I *almost* won; for the majority of the awards I was neck-and-neck with another party guest, and came out ahead at the last instant because I called No Country instead of Blood for best pic; and then this guy who had been sitting quietly in the corner all night said "Actually, I got the most right," and showed us his ballot. And I'm totally not bitter about it or anything. ^__^
* As of this morning, I no longer have a soft cast on my foot. I had "the opposite of surgery," where the surgeon removes all of the metal pins he put in during the surgery, and then I had my pinholes sutured with silver nitrate, which was pretty cool. Unfortunately, I've regressed back to creeping down the hallway. I was all excited about getting the cast off and the pins out, but it looks like having the opposite of surgery traumatizes the foot just as much as having surgery does. In short, it hurts to walk, and it'll hurt for a few days. On the plus side, I can wear a regular shoe again.
* I saved $10 by giving myself a manicure while watching the ABC premiere of Raisin in the Sun. The manicure turned out all right; bought a kit for $2 which gave me a little jar of white polish and a little jar of "nail color" polish so I could do it French-style, and surprisingly I was able to pull this off. Raisin in the Sun wasn't bad either, although I was disturbed by the choice to make Asagai Beneatha's teacher, instead of her friend. Made the inevitable romance just a little creepy. For the record, Sean Combs can act... and thank goodness.
That's all for now. Sorry there isn't any more... um... substance; it's been a light news week in Blue-land. ^__^
Sunday, February 24, 2008
So... remember how I duct-taped the word "VOTE" to my sweatshirt for Super Tuesday?
Tonight I'm going to an Oscar party.
Racked my brains trying to think of a costume. (Everyone's going to go as Juno, right?)
Then I came up with a brilliant solution.
Grabbed duct tape, a jacket, and set out to spell "PUNK IS NOT DED."
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Over on the hilarious A Philosophy Job Market Blog (tagline: "It'd be funny if it were happening to someone else"), the group bloggers keep a running total of how much money they are spending on the act of job searching.
From the most recent money post:
To amuse you all, I thought I might start a similar tally. Today, I spent $84 on interview clothing, and $200 on a round-trip plane ticket to DC.
Holy shit, the APA was expensive. Three nights in the hotel, even at the reduced grad student rate and splitting a room with one of my office mates, came to a $180 plus taxes. Transportation was $288. Add in internet service in my room at $10 a night, a couple of burritos at Chipotle and a sandwich from Potbelly, and I'm looking at a Visa total of about $544.60 for the conference.
So I've spent $995.39 on the job market this year. That's more than 5% of my gross annual income.
Which is... over a third of my monthly income. Woo-hoo!
To Daniel and all other German-speakers:
Someone's started copying my blog posts and translating them into German.
Here's their rendition of this post:
Sie dürften fragen, wenn Sie von einer zynischen Drehung des Gemüts sind, warum ich Bargeld auf Schönheitflüssigkeit und Haar goo fallen lasse, wenn ich deutlich für Geld und Gegenüberstehen von bevorstehenden medizinischen Rechnungen und eine potenzielle Verschiebung festgeschnallt bin.
Jene Frau sollte ihr Haar allein verlassen, dürften Sie denken. Sie sollte Mild benutzen. Oder Setzen Sie besser noch Gleich.
"Beauty fluid" becomes "schonheitflussigkeit," but "hair goo" is "haar goo." ^__^
Tagging off of a comment I made on Ultrabrown:
Barack Obama has taken the place of Harry Potter in our collective consciousness.
Think about it. Last year, the entire world waited to find out what a seventeen-year-old wizard would do to save the world from evil. To pass the time, they made fanvideos, posted online, and generally whipped up enough momentum to cause grown people to dress up in ridiculous costumes and stand in gigantic lines to pay $30 for a book.
With Harry Potter done and gone, where will America (and abroad) transfer its collective fandom energy?
How about onto this other, slightly magical man whom we believe will save the world from evil?
I think it's fantastic that Obama is gaining so much momentum from what are, essentially, fangirl techniques. I also think it's fantastic that this momentum is cropping up within nearly every demographic; will.i.am, Viva Obama!, and the infamous BollyObama video.
(A full collection of fanvideos can be found here.)
All that's left are fanfic and cosplay. I did a search for Obama fanfic and -- luckily -- didn't find any. But I wouldn't be surprised if it started turning up in the next few months. (The only slash we see had better be Barack/Michelle, 'kay?)
As for cosplay... well... the national election, the big one, is on November 4. My birthday.
I think I just decided on my party theme.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Image, Beauty Fluid, and Credit Cards: Blue Rehashes the "Dress For The Job You Want, Not The Job You Have" Argument
You might ask, if you're of a cynical turn of mind, why I am dropping cash on beauty fluid and hair goo when I'm clearly strapped for money and facing upcoming medical bills and a potential relocation.
That woman should leave her hair alone, you might think. She should use Suave. Or better yet, Equate.
Well. Here's why.
The short answer is that I'm test-driving low-cost image enhancements so that I can look my best when I go on my upcoming Informational Interview Tour.
The longer answer is that I'm tired of always looking like the poor temp (or poor graduate student) in the corner, and that it's important enough to my future career that I transform myself, even if it takes a disproportionate amount of my income.
Every career book I've read mentions this, including Suze Orman (whose Young, Fabulous, and Broke is technically a money book, but contains a section on starting careers).
I was always the temp who had three pairs of polyester "office pants" which she strictly alternated against a handful of blouses and sweaters. (At one temp job, my supervisor actually gave me some clothing, under the guise of having accidentally received some that didn't fit.)
Prior to this adventure, a job was something I showed up to do, and as long as I did my work well enough, it didn't really matter what my shoes looked like -- or my nails -- as long as they were clean.
This time I'm playing it differently.
I had a graduate student classmate who, unlike the rest of us, always showed up for class and rehearsal looking like she stepped out of a catalog. She had a standing manipedi appointment at the local salon. Every few weeks, she would appear with a new outfit or accessory.
The other young grad women asked her about this, one night when we were all hanging out together. We asked her how she managed to fit her great style into our tiny grad stipend.
"I took out an extra loan to pay for this," she explained. "It's an investment in myself. People get hired based on image, and I figured out what my image needed to be."
And then she said something very interesting. "I'm never going to buy a house. Statistically, because of my age and the cities I plan to live in, I'll never be able to break into the housing market. So my image has become my house loan and my mortgage. I'm wearing my house on my back."
Guess who moved the furthest in her career, after graduation? My savvy, well-coiffed friend.
I don't want to take it quite that far; I'm wary of "wearing my house on my back." But, at the same time, I want to shed the Scrappy-Doo graduate student persona.
So, over the next three weeks before I leave for the DC tour, I'm going to trim my cascade of hair, get a $10 manicure at the local cosmetology school, and comparison-shop to find two professional-and-attractive interview outfits. No polyester. And yes, I'll put them on the credit card if I have to. It makes me cringe, but even Suze Orman says to make the investment.
Posted by Blue at 3:10 PM
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
I shop store brand. For nearly everything. Oatmeal, cookies, coffee, soap. I even swapped out my favorite Dental Care for the much less appealing Ultrabrite (which is supposed to have some baking soda in it somewhere, but for the life of me I can't find it).
But there is one product for which I will not shop store brand. I tried, and switched back instantly.
That'd be my Garnier Fructis Length and Strength shampoo and conditioner.
I love this stuff. I discovered it in Hyderabad, when I was using my increased purchasing power to try every different shampoo I could get my hands on. (I was buying new shampoo all the time, given that the university kirana only sold 8-oz bottles.)
Long story short, I've got almost two feet of hair now and Garnier helps keep it soft and fluffy.
I did have a problem, though. During the course of a day, my hair would start to separate into straggly individual locks. I wanted a curtain of long, straight hair, not something that looked unkempt and unbrushed.
I also wanted my hair to stay glossy throughout the day, instead of turning dry and dull by evening.
So. I tried using more conditioner, and less conditioner, and then I tried using different conditioner. I tried using hairspray to get my hair to stay together (I don't recommend this one). Once I bought some "conditioning milk" that was on super sale (not a Garnier product -- this one was Sunsilk), but that only made my hair feel greasy.
I spent most days walking around with a rubber band on my wrist, so that I could scoop my disheveled hair into a messy bun around 4 p.m.
And then I went to the Garnier website.
They've got this fantastic little application called "Hair 411," where you get to name your specific hair problem through a flowchart-style interface. Then they list a few suggested products.
For me, that product was Sleek and Shine Weightless Anti-Frizz Serum.
Since I'm a competitive shopper, I know exactly which supermarket chain sells Garnier product at the lowest price. I got my magic serum for $3.
And ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you about how fabulous this little bottle of goo is. I haven't yet been able to replace my digital camera, so I can't take a picture. Whatever it does, it does well. My hair stayed glossy and fresh-looking all day long, and not once did it get clumpy or straggly.
Oh, Garnier. I know you've got someone on your team who follows site links, so to the rep reading this: I heart your product.
I've been trying to define, for the past few months, what I am looking for in a job -- and in a job search. I had been floating around, trying things out, without a real plan of action.
Recently I had the chance to connect with a person who is going to talk with me about opportunities in DC and will undoubtedly give me some indispensable advice. But I couldn't meet with this person without a plan.
So I sat down, and thought it out, and then wrote it out -- and then revised it, until it made sense and felt like an achievable goal.
And here we go.
I'm not necessarily looking for a job in the fine arts, despite my degree. My goal is to find an admin or entry-level position in an organization which will allow me to use my analytical/writing skills. These seem to be the two biggest assets I have to offer an organization, and are also the parts of my current work which I find the most interesting.
With the entry-level job in hand, I'll begin to learn more about the internal structure of the organization, determine where my skill set could be most useful (and where I need to fill in the gaps in my education), and prepare myself for an eventual move up or a lateral move out.
Which means, at this point, that I'm not focusing on getting a job in a particular industry (e.g. "I want a career at a publishing house"). I'm looking at a variety of possibilities and am hoping to find an opportunity.
Part of the reason why I am looking at so many options (academic sector, government sector, private sector) is because, in truth, I don't really know what's out there -- in DC or anywhere else. My knowledge of the working world is framed by growing up in a tiny town.
That last part is especially true, and seems to be why I've found it so hard to name the type of job I might want. I just... don't know what kind of jobs there are, in a world larger than my hometown and larger than my university town.
But this goal seems workable, achievable, and promising. I like that.
It also -- perhaps most importantly -- gives me a logical next step.