Some time has passed since my last post. After that post I was pretty excited to blog again, to elaborate, for example, on how much I love my new living situation over here in Germany. But as it turned out, a few days later I was awoken early in the morning by a phone call from my mom, telling me that my grandfather had passed away. Since then I haven't exactly been in the mood to blog. But perhaps soon I will be ready.

I love you, grandpa. None of us were ready for you to go.

It fills me with such happiness that you were able to come to my graduation last spring. Knowing how proud you were of me. That you'd fly across the country and put up with the lengthy, boring ceremony for the twenty seconds of me onstage. And now I think of what you told me when I saw you last summer in California. "Perhaps the next time I see you you'll be getting married." "Nahh, maybe before then I'll have gone back to school and I'll be graduating again." Perhaps that was a lie--I wasn't seriously considering grad school, at least not yet. But I said it because I wanted to make you proud of me again. That and I wasn't ready to envision myself as a grown woman, getting married. I was still a little girl being walked to Klockner Elementary School by her grandfather. Still her grandpa's "Sawsaw" (weird nickname in Tagalog that literally means "to dip (a food) in sauce"; all Filipinos have nicknames, some weirder than others).

No one called me Sawsaw but you, Lolo. But Sawsaw I will always be.

the prodigal Shan returns

I have decided to henceforth continue this blog. Nearly halfway through my Fulbright grant to Germany, but whatever. I've been feeling pretty bad about not documenting the riveting (to me, and a perhaps a small niche group of people) thoughts I've had since September. Not necessarily pertaining to Germany, either. Let's be honest, I'm primarily referring to food and TV shows (i.e. the exact concerns I was blogging about in 2011). Nothing changes! Except there's more schnitzel and I have to find sketchy ways to stream all the shows, instead of just using hulu or the DVR.

Times I have felt like Liz Lemon

1. Liz Lemon, staunch new-wave feminist
Me, Jackie, friend of Jackie's, and a friend of Jackie's friend lounge in the living room of the apartment at school, nursing glasses of wines and engaging in girl talk. As opposed to dude talk, of which I am an active participant 95% of the time. In the case of the friend of friend and friend of friend of friend, this is a pre-party visit--the party theme is announced to be "CEOs and corporate hos" and the ladies are dressed accordingly. Flicker of Liz Lemon first appears when my thoughts to plunge in the direction of "Oh, that is so typical, with women relegated to the role of corporate 'ho'... oh what an idea for a party indeed, that is just--". No, Shan, stop being a Douglass woman for two seconds, and lay down four years' worth of gender theory weaponry down. I consider whether I would attend such a party and decide that I wouldn't, on principle. This realization should have been a warning sign.
Jackie's friend: "I just sent a picture of me to [insert boyfriend name] and said, 'if I were your secretary, would you do me?" Everyone is merrily appreciative of this comment, and before I realize what I'm saying I blurt, "or, you know, you could be like 'if I were your boss would you do me? ....AmIright?" They look at me as though they have never encountered someone so socially inept, and they simply have no words to capture their awe, and then I feel myself in the process of filling the silencio by mumblecoughing "..feminism?" I think things could only have been made worse had I tried to high-five myself afterward.

2. Liz Lemon, Inadvertent Racist
On the night before Halloween, for all the reasons you can guess, I was dressed in a banana costume. I will not put on airs and tell you that it was even an adult-sized banana costume, for no, indeed it was intended for both children and Shans alike. I could have done with a larger costume, but the miniature costume was a whole ten dollars cheaper, and what can I say, in this economy we can't all afford to be large fruits. At a bar I pull away from Jackie-as-not-quite-obvious-enough Ke$ha in order to commend these two guys on what were, by far, the most fabulous of costumes. I am talking about Will Smith as the Fresh Prince, and Carlton. Now, I love Will Smith. I can't, however, stand his progeny--Willow and Jaden just irk me. But that's because I hate most children who are pimped out to showbiz, and plus, I just like Will too much to accept little subpar imitations. Anyway, I see them and I beeline to talk to them. It goes like this--
"Oh my goodness I love the fresh prince"
"Mmhm" Will Smith responds. He appears disinterested, and barely capable of acknowledging my gushing.
"Those wayfarers are fantastic," I persist, because I am too big a fan of the Fresh Prince to do otherwise, and then turning to his friend "Will and Carlton, such a great idea..."
"I'm not Carlton."
"Come again?"
Carlton frowns down at me. My mind cannot compute.
"I'm Steve Jobs."
I look at his turtleneck. His glasses. Carlton didn't have glasses, did he? Actually, perhaps this guy does not look like Carlton at all.
Oh, no, no. What defense do I have? "I'm sorry but you were a black nerd standing next to Will Smith, I just didn't immediately think... that you were a recently deceased white man." No, that would not do. So obviously I just laughed and backed away swiftly.

3. Liz Lemon, ranting queen, staunchly pro-sock
I once went on a five minute rant about why anyone would elect to wear ankle socks in the winter, as I had just purchased crew socks and experienced some kind of sock euphoria/revelation. "You don't realize what you've been missing in ankle warmth until you wear this, I'm telling you"--and proceeding to tell you for five minutes more.

4. Liz Lemon, unkempt like harried mother of five, but is not actually mother
After a movie I went to the bathroom to whizz and discovered popcorn kernels had found their way into the leg of my pants. Which is just illogical.

werkin'

At work currently: German department, where I've been employed since last fall. I sit at the desk outside the secretary's office, and do work on a computer that could stand to be upgraded (for some reason firefox does not function so I have to use internet explorer, which brings me back to the 90s in a non-fun way) (I'm fairly certain that all the other dept's computers, including laptops, are macs... just saying). Or there's no work to do and I sit there fiddling around on a computer that could stand to be upgraded, just so that when I'm looking up the Wendy's menu (as was the case five minutes ago. What? I'm quite peckish and I'm planning what food to pick up from the student center on the way home) the screen doesn't freeze because in 1995 flash plugins didn't exist yet.

Generally on days I work here, which is only once a week anyway, for three hours, I make sure to dress relatively nicely--well, not that I dress in any sort of unkempt way normally. In other words, the likelihood of my wearing a button-down jumps from 50% to 85% and if I'm not wearing a button-down I'm wearing a sweater. I do this because it helps me pretend I'm more important than I actually am, and in my mind distinguishes me from the other students who were assigned to work for the department as part of work-study. Whereas I am not only an employee but eine Studentin of the department (which I also like to hope looks really good on my resume).

I am also compelled to dress nicely on Mondays because that's the day I have my graduate-level course and I already look like a small child who stumbled into a room full of German scholars, so I might as well look like the child nerd who wears argyle and purposely strode into "German Romanticism and Gender Studies."

But, in general, I'm no longer comfortable dressing down these days because, I suppose, it serves as a mark of distinction from the hoardes of underclassmen. A totally called-for distinction, obviously, because I'm all about-to-graduate and adult-y and wear button-downs while working in the creaky, drafty Victorian building across from the library.

Yeep, I've forgotten roughly 70% of the Japanese I knew

It's been a full year now since I stopped taking Japanese. But for safekeeping I'm posting the personal statement I wrote for study abroad--feel free to google translate though the half of it will be totally wrong anyway :)

高校の時、日本語を勉強していませんでした。四年生になったが、大学を申し込みながらどの専門を選ぶか分かりませんでした（決めるのは大変ですね）。でも、ある日「いつもアジアの文化にほかの学科より興味がある」と思いました。実にアジアから英語や本に見とれました（勿論、漫画とアニメも）。だからラトガース大学で日本語と日本の文化を勉強することにしました。それいらいそのことを勉強してよかったです。

日本の町ならどこでも行きたいんですが、京都が必ずやいっぱりです。古都だから伝統的な文化と歴史を習ったり、お寺と神社を見たりします。何しろ立命館大学で勉強したら、大切なことを経験できます。日本語が上手になるために日本に行くべきなのではないでしょうか。と言って言語以外にいろいろな学科は面白いですから。美術を始め、経済、文学があります。大学前に漫画や日本のファッションなどはとても大切だったが、今では夏目漱石とよしもとバナナ書かれた本を読みます。喜んで明治維新を勉強します。私は立命館大学で英明な教授といい学生に会って、日本が分かります。

今今私の将来像を知りません。でも、日本語とドイツ語を勉強していますので、国際会社で働くたぶんです。教えるのもよさそうだと思います。ほかの文化に組み入れるなら、幸せになります。其れに留学した後で、四月間外国に住んでいた後で、私は優位者になるといいんですが。知らないものがたくさんだから、成るべくがんばりますよ。

Imagine owning just 75 things?

Every winter or summer break since beginning college I have set out to clean my room, organize my life, throw out/donate/sell the hell out of everything. This endeavor generally lasts one or two days and afterward I commence watching whole seasons of TV shows in single sittings. It's a trifle upsetting. The last time I made any headway I managed to put my books in boxes. 

I just want to really accomplish something this time. Already I am trying to be quite merciless with my wardrobe, but the longer I keep at it the less resolve I can hold onto. Mostly I struggle not from my own sentimentality but of the sentimentality I should probably(?) have. Take for instance the collection of t-shirts accumulated from school events from middle school to the present day. There are too many of them and most are hideous. I haven't the least desire to put on a t-shirt to remind myself of that time I was in the musical production Cinderella in 6th grade, but if I throw the shirt out my mom will certainly yell at me. Of course, I can just throw out all the shirts secretly, can't I? Ah, but then I'll have to feel guilty. And what about the "I <3 Douglass" shirt I was given on move-in day freshman year? etc.

Other items I'm on the fence about: mix tapes from former friends (nothing like finding thoughtful things from people who are no longer in your life to make you feel a little bit awful) and birthday cards (just feels so wrong to throw them out)

It does not help that my family holds onto everything.
My dad's job as a collector/seller of stuff means he's a hoarder by trade.
I have never seen my mother get rid of a single article of clothing or pair of shoes, but she is perpetually coming into new clothes and shoes.
To quote myself from this morning, "JR does not throw anything out whatsoever ... except his report cards. OHH SNAP" (it's true) (like, he refuses to even throw out the damn packaging to anything he buys. What the hell is he doing with the empty boxes and plastic?)
**The only exception to this family of hoarders is my grandmother. When she lived with us about ten years ago the house was all the better for it. That lady threw out everything. This includes my grandfather's dentures, on accident, but such is a small price to pay for an organized and clean home.

I have been working to simplify my life as much as possible for some time now. I like it. It's like a game. Do you know how enthusiastically I lived out of a suitcase for three months this summer? I should clarify--one slim suitcase small enough that it qualifies as a carry-on (sans any expandability), a crossbody purse, and a longchamp tote bag. To carry everything (clothes, shoes, my laptop, my camera...) for three months. I went over there with all of two pairs of shoes--white sandals and a pair of converse. I just crossed my fingers that I could get away with sandals at operas and plays.
When traveling I hate having too much. I would much rather find under prepared than over prepared. Even so I might have taken it too far this summer, but I felt crazy, adventurous and admirable all at once. I was constantly wearing the same outfits and had to find inventive ways to "mix it up" which involved scarves primarily. Scarf around neck! Scarf as headband! Scarf as head wrap (esp. in mosques in Turkey, obvs.)!

(Given the choice of characteristics that somewhat betray my gender I would still choose the two I already possess: I pack really lightly for a girl. And I drink a lot of beer for a girl. If you wish to flatter me, just comment upon either of those things.)

Years and years ago I read the book The Gospel According to Larry, about this quirky, yoga-practicing, Walden-reading wizkid who starts a website to preach little sermons against consumerism. He also keeps all of his possessions numbered and refuses to let the total count exceed 75. How great is that? I wanted to be that kid. I still want to be that kid, in terms of having a startlingly small amount of possessions, but I can't get on board with his stance against brand names. I'm still a sucker for that nonsense. Like Kate Spade bags, I go nuts for 'em. Anyway, just now I did a quick search for that book (so feel like rereading it) but came up empty, so I'll have to look more thoroughly tomorrow. Did find Walden though.

Happy Shannakuh, A Gift Buying Guide

This shirt is probably the most accurate shirt-form representation of who I am as a person. Except not really, because a couple weeks back I ordered a Ron Swanson "pyramid of greatness" t-shirt off the NBC website. I've got that waiting for me at home and I am stoked for it. So that might be the most accurate representation... well, eh, another codicil: If I were a shirt, I would probably just be any shirt that is a button-down or a plaid shirt (I just counted 10 such shirts hanging in my closet, meaning my button-downs outnumber my "going out" dresses by a slight margin of 10:0)... anyway, this shirt is obnoxious and I am in complete agreement with it. All I want is everything that I want, is that so much to ask for in life?

That said, here is a list of stuff I would buy and/or would love to be gifted to me.

1. Frye Harlow Strap boots, $360, frye.com

Pffft, I totally do not have 360 bucks to blow on boots. Yes, I have two "jobs" but that money goes towards fat sandwiches (the last one I bought was the "fat drunk" from Gio's: cheese steak, mozzarella sticks, chicken fingers, fries, honey mustard, BBQ sauce) and $5 happy hour cocktails at Clydz. So about once a week I go online and look at these boots and just imagine a montage of the next ten years of my life, me wearing these boots and clubbing in every metropolitan city of the world. I don't even wear heels ever, but these call to me in my sleep and waking hours and semi-waking, hours telling me "Shan, how hawt would you been in these boots? (*my inner voice has never actually been known to say "Shan, you look hawt") And how tall slightly closer to average-height would you be? And how worth it would the pain be?" I have basically never seen more perfect boots in my life and that said, I should probably just shut up and start saving money in a piggy bank. 

2. "An Illustrated Guide to Cocktails", shwaaat!, $16 + shipping, anthropologie.com

Actually I super need this book, I should probably just order it right now. It combines some of my favorite things, i.e. illustration (hence my not-creepy collection of children's books), historical information that's actually interesting, and drankz. Home-run hit right here.

 3. 'A Softer World' Magnet Set, $16 + shipping, topatoco.com

First off, if you don't read A Softer World, then you should probably correct that situation, and then you'll also know why this magnet set is ingenius. Do you know how much fun I would have putting my own pictures in the frame and constructing weird sentences (that will no-doubt include "zombie"...I somewhat famously go apeshit for zombies)? Here is the product description, which I strongly approve of: Put your own photos in, carefully select the words to accompany them. Ruin your relationships or make people unexpectedly fall in love with you! Heck, use pictures of Doctor Who, or Joseph Dreamboat-Levitt. What do we care? We're not the boss of you. Express yourself, there's not much time left! 

4. Posters, $-however much they cost I'm not looking this up, interwebzsomewhere (amazon?)

I have wanted a Little Miss Sunshine poster for about two years now. The pop of yellow would look great on my walls, I love the movie, and just look how fun of a poster it is? The running to get in the van? Come on. 

I also very much need an Arcade Fire poster, and I am particularly fond of the Neon Bible design. If my soul could produce music--I am talking about music to capture the very essence of my being--it would sound something like Arcade Fire. I am not a crazy person, but I have always been convinced that now and again in your life you hear music that sounds precisely like what you'd want your music to sound like if you were only talented and blessed enough in life to be able to make your own music. The last band I felt this about was the Japanese band Asian Kung-Fu Generation, and that was in 2008 maybe, I'm not sure. Oh, and if you are one of those people who actually has the ability to create the music of your soul, I have to kindly ask you to go screw yourself, because that's just not fair. Unless you are Arcade Fire, in which case my soul thanks you for the good work that you do.

5. Espresso Machine!!, $ depends on level of fanciness, but methinks the cheapest is $150, nespresso.com

I. Love. Espresso. I love it because, like me!!, cups of espresso are tiny and adorable but strong and get the job done :P. I'm sorry, that was uncalled for, I hate myself a little bit for having said that. Anyway, America does not love espresso. You understand now, why I can't stay here. (To be fair, Germany is equally bad as the US in their love for filter coffee. Disgusting.)

All I want is an automatic espresso machine that uses convenient capsules (like the Keurig coffee machine at home) so that I can have a wonderful cup of espresso erryday. But if I order this thing I'd have to get the capsules delivered, since stores don't generally carry them :( and I'm not really into that idea. But if I wanted an espresso machine it would have to be this capsule-using kind, because look, I like espresso, but I don't have the patience or desire to figure out how to manually brew my own. I once looked into what kind of beans and what sort of machine I'd have to get, and it just seemed like a hassle. In short, I'm a little conflicted but I still really want a nespresso machine.

This concludes the 10 minutes of selfish thought I allow myself every once in a blue moon  day half hour or so.

from the "Shan, don't kill yourself' paper writing playlist

(OK, all of the Torches album goes on this list)





Basically the common denominator here is energetic music that I won't get sick of after playing 2934834 times.

Here's to Papa Meisner

Currently my father is in Dublin. He left Tuesday and he'll be back on the 20th (still sooner than I'll be finished with final papers and my one exam). Last night at Queen's (free wing night; cold wings but I still ate six of 'em. Free wings, okay! Wings have been a pervading theme in my life this semester, God only knows why) I had a pint of Guinness hoping that at the same time my dad might be in a pub, just a little too buzzed from one too many pints of Guinness much tastier than mine, talking freely and too loudly with locals, as he is so inclined to do. It makes me incredibly happy that he's in Dublin right now, and I so hope he'll be able to make that side trip to London, where he's never been (in terms of Europe, he's only been to Germany, twice, and that was before I was born, and of course my family's trip to Dublin this past spring). My dad so adored Dublin, and he needs to see London. Everyone needs to see London.

Dad's friend has a home in Dublin, and he's been invited there repeatedly over the years but never took up the offer to go, until now. Somewhat filled with pride, I consider the fact that my influence is probably the reason he's gone this time. Well, who was to blame for pushing my family to travel abroad this year? Yours truly, of course. If there's one way I influence my family, or if there's any one way I'd like to influence them, it's to travel more. Why should I be the only spoiled one, after all? I tell them "Screw home improvements--yeah, our porch needs new stairs and we need a new stove and all that, but you're not going to be healthy enough to travel forever. You need to see the world." My mom's dying to see London and Paris and Venice, and my dad would be delighted to see all of Italy, especially Tuscany, and Greece. I want it so badly for them, too. Oh, my dream is that someday, someday sooner rather than later, I'd have a good job abroad somewhere and I could afford to send my parents to trips all over the world and trips to visit me. Oh please let me make bank someday.

So, I hope my father is living it up right now, getting into some mischief or at any rate enjoying not having to worry 'bout the missus, or his bratty kids. He fits in too perfectly in Ireland--he's a little guy (and they're generally small over there! As someone permanently child-height I appreciate that in a country [see: Portugal]), he knows the Irish folk songs, and he's far more inclined to sit in a pub talking history or griping over politics than perhaps any other activity in the world. In this regard I am so my father's daughter.

Update: supposedly my father called my mom asking for the recipe to make some Filipino dishes for a party over there. My dad so rarely cooks, and when he does it is certainly not Filipino food, so this is really quite astonishing and laughable (and, I can only assume, a testament to how pleasant a time he must be having, that this idea should strike him). I wonder now, a) if he went through with it, b) how terribad or surprisingly great did it turn out?

Head Games

What gets me through this semester of stress, of having neither enough time on my hands nor enough desire, is fantasy, sure. Sometimes I fantasize about getting new stuff (..the week I fixated on buying an e-reader or tablet). That sounds bad. But I imagine other things, like being in Tuscany, with the faintest tan (and I generally even disapprove of tans), nursing a glass of wine. Or, simply, being back in Berlin. I watch Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations and in a way it satiates that burning desire to be out there in "the world" (as though right now I'm not in it, but elsewhere), I become content, and yet sorrowful that the best I can do right now is watch that show. By the way, on separate occasions both Agata and Jackie watched a bit of Anthony Bourdain on TV, and just sort of confusedly remarked "he seems like such an asshole." I personally think he's hilarious and lovable, but what does that say about me, really?

The other thing I visualize, I long for, is being at home and having breakfast dates with my parents. I have the urge to speak to them as though I'm not just their daughter but a confidante. I want to talk to my dad about his estranged brother and how weird it was when we were invited to his cookout this summer. What did they talk about, anyway, when all the guests were gone and the food put away, sitting enshrouded in late summer nightfall, quietly, to themselves. Not like strangers, not like acquaintances and perhaps not like brothers--but I guess precisely like brothers. I want mom to lay out all her stresses and worries and speak in the voice, if only fleetingly, not of a mother, specifically my mother, but of an individual.

I want to have a lunch date with my brother because I worry about him and I love him and I see him enough, perhaps, but we don't speak enough. He's nineteen and I know he has some beautiful, maybe even tragic, wise thoughts in him. I suspect he secretly has the potential to be a poet. I admire the poetry about him, his firm stance against cursing (I think, further evidence of his poetic nature--why sully the world with foul language that voice foul thoughts?), the way he sometimes talks like an old man about "the good old days" and his childhood. I just wish that boy wasn't so damn selfish, though. For my parents sake I wish that.Then I have to wonder, am I any better? I'm equally selfish but I'm less of a source of stress just because they don't have to worry that I'm getting bad grades or won't graduate... I'm just a source of another kind of stress altogether, of course, traveling and all, being a girl in a dangerous world...

Fantasy, fantasy. Daydreams, made-up futures, re-played memories. The key to my escape is in my head, but the things that eat at me (everything: memories, the scary, stressful present, and projections of the future) are all in my head too. It's all in there, all of it, all the time. The answers are the problems, the problems are the answers.

technology be crazy

No, I did not go out black Friday shopping. My parents, brother, aunt and uncle went out to Best Buy even at 1:30 in the morning or something like that, which was wildly disorienting. My family's just been going nuts buying technological doohickeys recently, and I have been judging them for it while simultaneously reaping some benefits. For instance, I'm on board about this new TV. It's bigger, and the bigger the better is my policy about televisions because they're more like the experience of going out to the movies (which, though recently neglected is a pleasure I adamantly enjoy). But this is also a TV with 3D capabilities, and that just feels grossly excessive.

But I will not lie to you, watching Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs in 3D last night in the convenience and comfort of my own domicile wasn't too bad of a deal. It's already a great movie (I love Bill Hader. LOVE HIM.) but the 3D effects are just cool. (Another sidenote: whenever I watch SNL I have a little "would I marry Bill Hader or Seth Myers?" debate in my head.) Not that giant foodstuffs popping out at me was what impressed me, but I was really drawn in by, say, seeing a building with glass windows and the inside of the buildings looking so stunningly realistic, like I could really just pop in and walk around, and yet so whimsically cartoonish at the same time. I can't explain it. You just have to see it.

I am placing the 3D TV, because it feels so excessive and indulgent, on the list of things you yourself do not need to own but you want your friends to have (see previous discussion on boats and swimming pools). Now that I think of it, fancy massage chairs that you see at Brookstone go on this list. Because they too are ridiculously indulgent, but also expensive. (But, please, if anyone is interested in buying me one, what are you waiting for?) So perhaps with this new television my family now owns the type of thing that causes one to suddenly have a lot more friends.

Meanwhile I am still confused about what blueray actually is, and all the remotes in my own home confuse me. My parents don't know what they're doing, either.

Basically I blame this all on my brother's influence. That guy. He also has an android phone, which I still maintain is superfluous. And yet I kind of want one, obviously. And yet I really don't... I mean, ultimately if I wanted a smart phone, I could get one. I'd say "mother, I want a smart phone" and she'd say "okey dokey." But I've decided against it. For starters, they're bulky and generally have lame battery life. I dislike both having to charge things all the time and not being able to fit a phone in my pocket (Even the current phone I have is too big and I swear it was the smallest one around--bigger is better does not apply to portable technology! People should know this). And then I'd have to pay to use the interwebz on it, but I'd also need insurance on it because I have such crap luck with technology, and all that money would add up. I'm not trying to drive my family into debt with stuff I don't need. I'm already doing that with my Rutgers bills (buh-dum-dum). I make yoke.

Moreover, despite the manifold benefits of having the interwebz at my fingertipz at all timez, it's really most probably best I don't have it. That just leads to gross obsessive-compulsive behavior, whereas I sometimes like to maintain the air of someone who does not need to always feel "connected" via cellular or internet-connected device. I feel connected to mother earth and to the web we call humanity, you guys. (That's the sort of statement that I can deliver, completely deadpan, with ease--everyone hates me for it.) Example of cool disconnectedness: if it's winter or summer break and my phone dies I just let it lay there, dead, for days. People also hate me for that.

But the one way I have indulged technologically is that I bought that Nook Tablet that just came out. And I am a little obsessed with it. In a good way, I swear. So, because my Nook is kind of the great love of my life (I hold it close to me at night and refer to it as "my precious") I think I'll want to write all about it later in a separate post. Granted it may be one of those "yes, I will write about that later!" all talk, no delivery ordeals... If so, that's too bad. I have many things to say about my Nook.

Thanksgiving break for the broken

It will be nearly 3 am soon, I'm on the couch with a soft blanket and really shockingly comfortable foam(?)-based pillow, JR is perched on the floor playing a Spider-man video game in which Spidey is voiced by Neil Patrick Harris (well played, whoever came up with that), and mom's on the home computer, playing solitaire. 3 AM solitaire, mom, that just seems uncalled for. Are you secretly procrastinating on a 5-7 page paper on Hegelian dialectic?

I am listening to pandora, which is attuned to my hip, mellow mood--except just now it tried to pawn the song "Jerk it out" onto me for the zillionth time. Awful. Stop doing that, pandora. And I am sleepy as well as a little unnerved because this whole set-up makes me think I've time-travelled back to anywhere in the January-April time period of this year (that aw-esome/ful hiatus-type break of my life, which as a soon-to-be humanities graduate I ought to get used to anyway). It's bizarre! This laying around (and prolonged neglect of work) doesn't mesh with these past months; I've been so insanely, discontentedly busy this whole semester. I would venture to say depressed, yes.

There was a week in which my breakfast (11 AM, after several torturing hours of reading Mrs. Dalloway or depressing/frustratingly enigmatic Kafka parables for class) would consist solely of leftover spicy ethnic food from the night before (the "mixed platter" from Kati Roll & Platters, "Korean style tacos"... [so delicious, my friends]), a bottle of Leinenkugel honey weiss beer, and an ibuprofin. This was all, I justified, an improvement over my usual "breakfast" of a glass of water.

But I had further justifications. Of course I had to eat the leftovers; waste not, want not. And 11 AM is basically lunch time, so it's not weird to be eating spicy meat products. And there's just nothing else to drink in the apartment except for beer, basically. And I needed the ibuprofin for the crazy menstrual cramps...

Et cetera.

I would judge myself for these behaviors, if I had a spare moment. Which I really don't. That solves that. Except, alright, I have a spare moment now and, well, it's all very appalling. For instance, I woke up today with my whole body aching, wondering if there was something quite terrible about the mattress I slept on. Then I realized, ah, no, remember how you went for a 15-minute jog yesterday? A fifteen. Minute. Jog.

School is making me fat and unhappy. Just saying. I AM PLAYING THE BLAME GAME AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME.

An Education

I came home, 9:30 pm roughly, cracked open a Bud Lite lime and sat at the table, sipping away, staring out into oblivion, thinking of absolutely nothing, absolutely nothing--and it was beautiful. And I didn't have to contort my face in such a way that said "yes, I understand, yes I'm thinking about this text critically, yes, this matters to me. I live and breathe and eat and defecate Kafka/Nietzsche/Dostoevsky/Freud/Woolf," while jotting down notes vigilantly.

Just a beer, a chair, and eyes that can't keep focus. And with some effort I explained to Nicole and Jackie what I learned in class today, namely that everyone just wants to have sex with everybody, all the time, and we also want to punch each other in the face. But society doesn't let us do that, so we can never be happy--the best we can do is be less unhappy, by drinking, or drugs, or throwing ourselves into art or science. And shit, isn't reading Freud uplifting or what?

Days like this I'm certain I need to graduate and get the hell away from this place.

a dude should know how to wield at least one power tool

Some thoughts I had just now about a completely silly crush I maintain (because it is amusing for both me and Jackie):

Well, he's not especially attractive or anything. He could also be gay. But then, why doesn't he dress better? I think he tries, somewhat, but he looks unstylishly geeky--there is such a thing as stylishly geeky; that's different. It is almost endearing, though, and that's awfully generous coming from someone who puts way too much stock in these things. He is a bit too sarcastic (if he should turn out to be gay I also add the word sassy here). And his skinniness has me worrying that he might be a vegetarian, of all things. Which is something I just cannot tolerate in men (I can just barely excuse it in women). So far the only exception I've made is Alec Baldwin. And really I'm not sure how I feel about Alec Baldwin, Person. I think I've allowed myself to be sucked in by the charm of Alec Baldwin portraying Jack Donaghey in 30 Rock and I can't make out the difference. So that exception doesn't even count.

My prejudice against dude vegetarians might quell from the beautiful spring called "No person should ever impede me from full enjoyment of wings and beer at bars." But also, it might have to do with wiring in my brain that associates masculinity with hunting, caveman-style. Something gets turned on its head when a dude announces he's essentially a gatherer, not a hunter. OK, that's nonsense reasoning... still there's something to be said about old school masculinity, like Hugh Jackman as Wolverine, or my go-to example Ron effing Swanson from Parks and Rec. Show me a guy who knows an almost suspicious amount of things about forest survival and the stars. That's attractive. I like the lanky, boyish goofballs--Do Not Get Me Wrong (John Krasinski, Conan...) but manliness vs. boyishness, gee that's an awfully hard choice. I shant attempt it.

Anyway, what was my point before? Oh, vegetarianism. Well, it's like this. If he's gay, I can work with that. If he's a vegetarian, game over.

Gejetlagged

Früh am Morgen. Vielleicht 5 Uhr. Wir setzen uns außer der Club (heißt Eletric Swing Club. Der DJ hatte etwas wie ein „Hit the Road Jack“-electric Remix gespielt. Mein Fruend lachelt „Amerikaner hören diese Musik jeden Tag, nicht wahr?“). Feuchtheiß in dieser Club ist eine total Untertreibung; ich fuhle mich Schweiß auf meiner Haut, den nicht mein eigenen Schweiß ist. Deshalb draussen, draussen ist besser, aber in der Sonne ist alles viel zu kristallklar für mich. Und ich denke, nur hier in Berlin bin ich nicht die Person die immer sagt „Jungs, es ist noch früh! Bleiben wir! Biiiiitte.“ Das ist meine Rolle in New Brunswick, New Jersey, eine ganz andere Welt worin 2 am Morgen heißt normalerweise schluss mit lustig, lass uns nach Hause gehen. Hier in Berlin erst eine Stunde vor, ja 4 Uhr, sah ich noch eine große Masse, die 10 Euro bezahlt, um diese Club einzutreten. Amis, ihr weißt nichts über feiern.

Hady (Aussprache fast ununterscheidbar von dem Wort „hottie“), oder LieblingsHady, wie ich ihn nenne, braucht eine Zigarette. Aber er will nicht jemanden fragen, will nicht that guy zu sein (wie sagt man eigentlich das auf Deutsch?). Ich necke ihn mit meinem Lolli, gebe vor, ihn zu rauchen, bis er abtritt. Jemand gibt ihm eine ganze Hand voll von Tabak, ein anderen gibt ihn Zigarettenpapier, und nach einer Pause wissen wir plötzlich genau wie müde wir sind. Hady hat noch Jetlag, denn er war erst gestern in LA, und ich... ich bin leider keiner Partylöwe für Berlin Verhältnisse. Also, jetzt eine schwierige Wahl. Weiter hinein gehen oder aufhören? Ich atme aus. „Unserer Fehler ist, wir hatten uns hingesetzt.“

Wir laufen langsam Kottbusser Tor vorbei, in die Richtung Prinzenstraße, und so ruhig ist es, ich bin unsicher, ob wir wirklich in Kreuzberg sind. „Prinzenstraße…“ sagt Hady, „kennst du den Froschkönig? Du kannst ihn in dieser Bahnhof finden. Wirklich. Drinnen gibt es eine Figur.“

„Wie süß“ antworte ich, und ich stelle vor, Hady als mein gejetlagged Prinz. Ich finde das irgendwie ganz amüsant.

Er: „Rauchen wir auf dem Balkon, denke ich. Dann Schlaf.“

Und ich: „Klingt gut.“

            In Berlin was ist eigentlich der Unterschied zwischen Guten Morgen und Guten Nacht?

Our heroine finds herself alone, eats sammich

I've settled it--this is my spot. It is just a blip of a walk, a microsecond away from my apartment, but its nearness has not tricked me into thinking a better spot could be found elsewhere. I sit on this bench, Italian sub half consumed, relishing the Keanu Reeves flair of my solitary, introspective meal.

Rutgers is a sometimes an unappealing mishmash of architecture, the most unfortunate buildings, I think, from the sixties (Loree and Hickman Hall on Douglass being the most offensive to look at or be in). But the oldest buildings, clustered behind me, which hold the offices of the university's most important people and who knows what else (Van Nest? Winants? What is in there?), are undoubtedly the most beautiful, though not related to the average Rutgers student's experience in the least. Indoctrination to the Rutgers classroom experience is more like having a class in the freezing basement of one of the river dorms--I had roughly a billion of those. The very fact that these old beautiful buildings of Rutgers' past have nothing to do with us meager students may be part of the reason this lovely grassy area nearby goes ignored and all these benches lining the path remain empty.

Across the path I can watch that huge building next to my apartment being constructed (that stupid effing building--I look out the bedroom window and see nothing but its parking deck head-on), the church undergoing some construction, and the platform of the train station. I feel like 500 Days of Summer's Tom sitting on his bench at Angel's Knoll, thinking this is my little under-appreciated piece of the city.

I look over at the trains and think how easy it would be to get on and be home in twenty minutes, or get on and be in New York in an hour. How simple, accessible. I could even hop on and find myself at the Newark airport, and I could fly to Berlin, or anywhere else I wanted to. Who says it's so hard to pack your bags and leave home for other corners of the globe? The way out is right there... I'm not trapped... but for now, I'm still trapped.

An old woman jogs across the street, a city bus screeches annoyingly until it halts at the train station stop, a tall, slender man in a brown corduroy blazer and exaggerated clothes hanger shoulders moseys along the bench lined path with his briefcase. The sun is setting, it's cold, everything is a 5:30 pm blue.

I'm not sure why I came here to begin with, but now I guess it's time to go home.

thoughts on the train, sunday 1:37 pm

There is something beautiful about this day, this moment teetering between noon and afternoon, between a laugh and a cry, between the cold rush of air on my cheeks, in my hair, and sleepy sun warming up my back and legs as I stand waiting on the train platform.

The train comes and I board it. I think about how I don't want it to get dark so soon, but even in a half hour's time the mood will have changed, time will have passed, and I won't be the same either. The lighting and the shadows cast from the trees and edifices that pass me by as I ride, backwards, to New Brunswick, won't look the same, nor will the lights and shadows of the objects in my autumn-edition heart.

Whether I should or shouldn't, whether reciprocated or not, I miss him. In this moment I miss him. I want to pull him into this world of mine, this world of diners and abandoned shopping plazas and reflective walks through the cemetery, and see how he'd fit in that space. There, that right there is my high school, this is the way I walked home for four years, even more uncertain of myself back then as I am now--if you can imagine that--my world then still so small and unaware of things an ocean away.

And here's my mother, one of the sweetest women on the planet, spoiling, self-sacrificing like your own mother. But mine wears too much jewelry, which sometimes makes me wince, though that's just a minor quibble about the woman who supports me in all that I do, even in pining for someone an ocean away, whether she should or shouldn't. My mother will ask you impertinent questions, and you'll like that. The funny thing about her is, she'll ask all these questions about people to make out their character, but already she quietly approves; if a person has already somehow earned my approval, that is enough.

But I think the mood has changed, the light has changed, and I shouldn't play with these thoughts anymore. I will save them for another flickering moment of passing light, of possibilities and impossibilities. I will try to leave the idea of you on the platform of the train, as much as I'd rather you sit here by my side, and soon enough it will be dark out, anyway.

brb.....k im back

So that idea about blogging as I traveled all over Europe totally did not pan out, as it turns out. I'm not cut out for travel writing, at least not during the traveling itself. I get too distracted to write a thing down. But let's be serious, I was off watching flamenco in Spain and drinking port wine in Portugal, and hating everybody in Paris, so can you blame me? Well, you can, and I would, but pish posh... at least one thing I have proved is that I am exceedingly good at blogging when I'm stuck in New Jersey.

And, well, that's where I'm at in life at this particular, and perhaps unfortunate moment (I say unfortunate but that's more to do with the stresses of school, both the current and future plans thereof, than the simple fact that I'm physically in New Jersey). So, it's about time I got back to writing, no? Right back into it, I say! (also: that's what she said).

Quick update then, as I slowly but surely fall asleep. I have a new laptop (not... by choice) so I've been killing the past several hours not by reading House of Mirth or Frankenstein for my classes, but by going over what music I actually listen to on my iPod. That's always the most tedious task in the universe, but it's also rewarding, like cleaning out the fridge (similar also in that both potentially yield horrifying results). Determining where your musical taste is at any given time is something like reassessing who you are and where you are in life (douchey thing you should not say on a first date #348277). Don't you think?

Right now much of what I'm listening to are bands in the vein of Bloc Party, Arcade Fire, and Radiohead (gratuitous amounts of Radiohead)... tempered with female singer-songwriters like Adele, Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson. The bands I'm diggin, primarily British and captivating but kind of depressing, to me also have "Berlin" written all over them. -Is it too literal to listen to the song Kreuzberg in Kreuzberg?- So I have to keep ladies like Sara B. in there otherwise Jackie will shoot herself in temple when I put on my iTunes.

At any rate, I have never claimed to have good taste in music. Mostly because I don't have good taste in music. But damn it if this isn't one of the best songs in the universe. I could be wrong about this... and yet if this song does nothing for you I will conclude you're just not a real person with a human heart or real feelings.



Good night my sweet New Jersey and all the rest of the earth, universe, everything, between the click of the light and the start of the dream....

The past four months: a recap

"So Shan, what's it been like having a semester off?" people ask me. And I say "Weird as SHIAT, dawg."

No, I don't say that. But you know what, it has been a weirdo mixed bag indeed, and given that I leave for BERLIN in a mere TWO WEEKS I feel I should verbosely explain it all. Well, all in all, I've coped fairly well. I don't remember what it's like to do work AT ALL, but that's just training for the real world anyway, right? Haaaaaaa. But really, I don't feel the least bit like a student, which is kind of odd, and  in various ways I miss it. |:

I missed a lot of dope funtimes with my friends, although visiting 'em was nice. I miss weird things like the feeling of taking notes in class with a blue pen on smooth lined paper. Aw man, everything Rutgers feels far-away like a dream. Going to "work" at the tutor center. Fighting the urge to sleep in the tutor center. Caffeine highs from choco-caramel frappe concoctions from Gerlanda's.

At home, with no papers and exams, there's no stress. But where's the sense of achievement?

And when I visit Rutgers it feels like I'm an outsider again. I feel sort of the way I did when I was a senior in high school scoping everything out for the first time.

I don't know if it bums me out per se... I will say that a week or two after it was decided I wouldn't go to Japan, I was in a pretty pitiful mental state. Of course, I still don't know if not going was the right decision. And I suppose I never will. I do think that the decision had/will continue to have a profound impact on my life and my future. I don't know if I'll continue to learn Japanese again... and honestly, I don't know if I want to.

Did I give up Japan because I was frightened of nuclear fallout and cancerous sushi, or because I was frightened of changing my life? I was taking the easy way out because frankly, I'd already lost a lot of motivation to keep learning the language. And, since it was already March, I'd simply forgotten a ton of Japanese.


I love Asian Studies, and I'm good at it. Chinese Cinema to Japanese Women Writers, Asian economy, history, philosophy, whatever. But I never felt any more than "better than the average student" at Japanese language. I got good grades but I didn't really feel like I was learning... Maybe all I needed was to just go there, go to Japan. Even though I was caring much less, and was perhaps discouraged with my progress ('cause it's just a disgustingly hard language. All the characters to memorize, and the homophones drove me crazy)--especially compared to German (which with I have a much longer history, and one of much success). Damn it, if I had gone, how in love with the Japanese language and people and atmosphere would I be right now?

But I didn't go. And God only knows if I chickened out or if I made a good, rational decision about my safety.

But life marches right along! And so far in 2011 I've experienced a really interesting array of things.

Like, in January I had my week long externship in the international students dept. at the community college. I learned that I would be totally awesome at a menial desk job, which is not really something to be proud of, but whatever. I make kickass flyers.

I learned that I am capable of sticking to a pescetarian diet for as long as 2-3 weeks, and that doing so will make me feel kind of self-righteous and healthier, but I won't lose any weight, and eventually I'll realize that I'm only doing it to prove that I can, and because I'm friggin bored, on account of not having any classes. **So yes, I did go back to eating meat, and especially after I realized I was going back to Germany, I accepted this as necessary and Only The Proper Thing To Do. But I gave pescetarianism an honest try and I get points for that!

I learned that I can navigate New York City after all and that gives me hope that someday I can be an awesome NYCity-slickin' laday.

I watched MAD AMOUNTS of The Big Bang Theory and Parks and Recreation and other shows. And tons of movies. Wait, should this be on the list of achievements?

I got to go to Los Angeles, North Carolina and, um, Ireland. So that's pretty cool.

I want to go to there (again)

Except, instead of wine (per the picture), I will have a mojito. And then I will have the very best nap of my life.