It's 6:13 a.m. I'm about to shut my computer down and may not have internet access for an entire week, so probably no more blog posts. But after that, I can promise at least one interesting post. You see, I'm about to meet my parents and brother for our little New Year's vacation. There's always something to talk about after we all get together....
Happy New Year!
For those of you who don't know me, I have two very dear friends, both named Jason. Even those who do know me may not know about the long string of Jasons in my life (all the previous ones marking interesting firsts). These Jasons aren't really first anythings, but they are BY FAR the best Jasons. They have done A LOT to make me feel loved and missed while I'm here and that means SOOOOOOOOOOO much to me (this is a very emphatic post). Just this morning, I received the best care package ever. It showed a lot of thought and they got it just right! Let me share with you the contents:
* Vanity Fair (MY FAVORITE MAGAZINE): 2 issues, one with (hott) George Clooney on the cover and the other with a wet Brad Pitt!!!
* Vogue: on the cover, Cate Blanchett, which some of you might remember as one of my top 7 celebrity crushes
* Alon's chocolate chip pecan cookies (MY FAVORITE!): I have not yet decided if I'm going to share these at the Christmas potluck I'm going to, but at the rate I'm eating them, signs point to No.
* Cholula hot sauce (MY FAVORITE): they only have Tabasco here, which is probably my least favorite
* Crushed red pepper flakes: also non-existent here and essential.
*Pink flannel pajamas with monkeys on them: I am totally not making up the fact that just yesterday, I was thinking I should get some flannel pjs and then decided against them because I thought I couldn't afford them. These are way cuter than the ones I was eyeing.
*Weeds (season 1) and Romy and Michele's High School Reunion: MUCH needed entertainment.
So thank you boys. As my mother would say, "I feel rich." I'm so happy. Opening that package totally made me cry by the way. I love you!
I'm kind of ambivalent about it. If I look back on my life, I've seen a lot and experienced a lot, so that's good. If I look at the current state of my life, it's a little more depressing. In order to not be such a downer though, I'm trying to think of it as a stepping stone.
As far as being officially old, well that I'm pretty fine with. The 20s are filled with a lot of stupidity and though I doubt that's disappearing entirely, it's good to have the majority of it behind me. So I guess all in all, I'm cool with it. See, one of the good things about getting older (for me anyway) is caring less about superficial stuff. And age, for the most part, is superficial. So bring it on. Come on 30, I dare you.
No, I'm not in a bad mood, it's just that Catalans actually do want you to have a somewhat shit-filled holiday season. Let me explain: 1) Catalonia, where I live at the moment, is the northeast part of Spain. They have a different language here (though it's safe to say that pretty much every Catalan is bilingual in Catalan and Spanish) that is spoken in this area, Andorra, part of France, and one town in Sardinia. 2) Catalans are proud of it. There are a ton of different issues regarding nationalism that I won't get into here. Besides heavily promoting their language, Catalan holiday customs are on frequent display. 3) These holiday customs involve poop, which is a Catalan symbol of fertility.
An American friend here started telling me about one tradition, the caga tio ("shit log"; there's supposed to be an accent on the 'o'). I basically didn't believe her or thought that there was a language misunderstanding or something, so when I got an email from my Catalan teacher telling me of an event discussing Catalan xmas traditions, I knew I had to go.
How the shit log works: Families go out and buy a log with a smiley face on it (traditionally I guess they used to go out into the woods and find one). They bring it home and cover it in a blanket to keep it warm. They "feed" it (I think it's kind of like leaving cookies for Santa), and then on the big day (Christmas Eve), kids are made to go to their rooms for a minute while parents stuff treats under the blanket. The kids come out and sing songs, at the end of which they whack the log with sticks. The songs vary, but they seem to generally involve asking for good treats (turrones [Spanish nougat]), threatening further whackings if good treats are not shat out, and pleas to not be given "bad" treats (sardines, coal). I guess they think they're literally whacking the poo out of it, because when they're done, they lift up the blanket and--surprise!!!--turrones and other sweets! And then after the caga tio gives them presents, they burn him.
P.S. Update: I was fact checking with my Catalan roommate and he told me that the log shits out gifts. To double-check, I asked, "Candies and stuff, right?" He said, "Well, that's what's traditional, but nowadays he might shit out a PlayStation."
Don't believe me? It's been documented on the web: check the 2004 Boing Boing entry and the YouTube instructional video. Here's a picture I took at the Christmas booths of some of these friendly, poopy logs for those of you too lazy to check the links.
Of course having only one crap tradition at Christmastime is not enough, so Catalans also have the Caganer. This is a little shitting figurine that is part of all Nativity displays (and somehow not sacrilegious, I guess). The shitter does his thing in the manger, bringing fertility for the following year. It's considered bad luck not to have a shitter in your Nativity scene. He's traditionally an old man, but if you take a look at this site, specializing in making caganers, you'll see that political figures, the pope, and futbol coaches also make the cut. And the folks at the Servei Linguistic, who hosted the event and dinner I went to last night, gave us each one of these. Modeled on those chattering wind-up teeth, this guy's got a little something extra special: a little Christmas poo, just for you! Crappy Holidays!
p.s. any Catalans reading this who want to correct me, have at it!
Sasefina posted this on her blog a little while ago and asked others to fill it out, so here goes (I might steal a few of her answers).
7 Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
Date forever/marry someone who loves me and believes in me no matter what, faults and all
Find a career/job that I feel I was born to do
Travel to various exotics locales (i.e. no more European vacations)
Buy a house and fix it up
Go back to all the people who had a big, positive influence on my life and thank them for it
Be that kind of person for someone else
Settle in the same city as at least one of my best girl friends
7 Things I Cannot Do:
Schmooze
Brown-nose
Compartmentalize unpleasant aspects of my life so I don't have to think about them
Lie
Carry a tune
Breakdance
Support any sort of bigoted person
7 Things That Attract Me to the Opposite Sex:
General hotness
Funniness
Brains
That's basically it as far as attracting me. I like all types. Note that there is a difference between attracting me and keeping my attraction.
7 Celebrity Crushes:
Clive Owen
The Rock (I know it's strange)
Cate Blanchett
Rosario Dawson
Johnny Depp
Matt Lauer (I actually just came back to this list to re-edit, removing Adrian Brody for the Today Show host. Matt was with me every morning when I first moved to Atlanta and didn't know anyone and was recently dumped. My crush for him goes on...)
Andre 3000
7 People I Want To Do This:
My mom
Barack Obama
George Bush (maybe these are the standards we should use to decide who to vote for?)
Clive Owen
The Rock
Little Jason (my only friend that would actually fill this out, esp. since he's on vacation)
Those of you who look at this page and want to comment
So even if you're not on Blogger, leave a comment with your sevens.
I am having an abnormal (for me) Christmas this year. First of all, I will not be with any family. Second of all, I will be with people I have known for less than two months. Third of all, they are Jewish and Muslim, so they don't celebrate Christmas. I am excited for it--I haven't had a traditional Christmas in years anyway, these people are lots of fun, and this means I won't be alone on Christmas, which I believe is one of the more depressing thoughts I've had lately (and I've had many). And they are all fun people, so I'm looking forward to it.
In the spirit of honoring different holidays and of religious tolerance, may I direct you to the Flying Spaghetti Monster site? (Take his suggestion and start with the Open Letter to the Kansas School Board if you don't know anything about it yet.) FSM has many followers (aka Pastafarians); one of them made a holiday FSM, which I share with you at the right. Happy Holidays!
In case you haven't heard, a large study recently proclaimed that male circumcision cuts the rate of HIV infection in half. A New York Times article quoting an aptly named scientist states: "Circumcision is “not a magic bullet, but a potentially important intervention,” said Dr. Kevin M. De Cock, director of H.I.V./AIDS for the World Health Organization."
A few thoughts come to mind, mostly fueled by some conversations I've had with Spanish men who, almost universally, still have their foreskins (the two that I know that don't had a "medical problem" when born. Don't ask what, because that's all I know). When they hear that in the States, very few guys (at least my age) are still wearing a hoodie, they are appalled, primarily on the grounds of lost sensitivity. They have heard horror stories about this lack of sensitivity. I'm no dude, so I can't judge, but if guys without foreskins are lacking in sensitivity, having a foreskin must be the equivalent to walking around in those remote-controlled vibrating panties. I mean, is there a too sensitive? I commented to my roommate that maybe a guy's being really sensitive may be a bit of a disadvantage for the female. He thought about it (it had clearly never occurred to him before) and then said (a bit flippantly), "Yeah, I guess you're right."
Next, if getting circumcised cuts the risk of HIV infection, what the hell happens to a foreskin during sex? All I can picture are a lot of bloody and terrifying sex sessions. I mean, there must be (wince) tearing, right? Here's what the article says: "Uncircumcised men are thought to be more susceptible because the underside of the foreskin is rich in Langerhans cells, sentinel cells of the immune system, which attach easily to the human immunodeficiency virus, which causes AIDS. The foreskin also often suffers small tears during intercourse." So foreskins are full of HIV-attracting cells and they do tear, though I guess maybe unnoticeably? (p.s. the mental picture I'm forming of anthropomorphized "sentinel" cells hanging out under a foreskin are hilarious)
Then I also think about the ethics of circumcision. This what not something that crossed my mind until a Global Health class a few years ago. Everyone is up in arms about female circumcision (granted, there are many different issues involved; I'm not getting into them here), but no one ever talks about whether male circumcision is unethical. You are cutting off a piece of a person's skin, usually without their consent (because they're babies, because they're minors, because it's a cultural tradition and they don't have the power to say something against it, etc.). The argument in the States, I believe, is that it's cleaner to not have a foreskin and that no one else has a foreskin, so the boy would feel weird having one (I remember an ex-boyfriend telling me about one uncut boy in his gym class that they called "Conehead"). But what about the "unnecessary" surgery (prior to this latest article, I think the cleanliness arguments were basically negligible) and the lack of sensitivity?
And here comes this article. This seems to be a pretty clear cut (pun not originally intended, but pretty funny) argument for male circumcision. HIV is a very serious disease, even though it's lost a bit of status as such among post-Ryan White youth in the West. Even with medication, it's a death sentence. Cutting foreskins off would decrease men's risk of HIV infection, which, down the line would cut down on women's infection rates as well. A simple, yet painful (they're advocating it for adults) surgery. Not any sort of solution, but something. Here are the drawbacks: "It only lessens the chances that a man will catch the virus; it is expensive compared to condoms, abstinence or other methods; and the surgery has serious risks if performed by folk healers using dirty blades, as often happens in rural Africa."
I see a lot of backlash resulting from public health practitioners going into African countries and cutting off part of men's penises. I imagine that there are some cultural beliefs against male circumcision in at least a few of the countries most affected by HIV. Maybe if they aren't using condoms, they won't really be into circumcision. Maybe if they get circumcised, they'll think they won't need condoms anymore. I don't really have an answer and I'm not going to post an opinion. I just think it's an interesting issue in light of the medical/public health, medical anthropological, ethical, and social ramifications.
And I would be lying if I didn't admit to thinking about one superficial, positive effect of the universalization of male circumcision: no one would freak out at the thought of encountering a penis unlike one they'd ever seen before.
Like I said, we mainly did a lot of drinking and walking. Our first night, I believe we went to five different places, the next night, only two (we found a good one) and the following night, well, two again. This is the night that makes for a particularly good stories (there are other little mini stories, like the drunk old man vomiting on the bar). So this night, the last night, Ryan and I went along with our hostel owner and fellow hostel guests to a bar where they do jam sessions. It is the hostel owner (Al)'s favorite bar and he wanted Ryan to play bass (it's like an open mic jam session). This is the first night Ryan and I hung out with any hostel people. The hostel people were all really nice, but we were sort of on our own wavelength. We shared a room with another American, a guy I'll call Bob. Bob was a nice kid, but didn't seem to go out much. He spent a lot of time on his laptop (though to be fair, his job is on his laptop, so he may have been working). He was out with us that night though, and by the time we got to the second bar, Ryan said to me, "I think Bob's kind of toasted." A bit toasty myself, I didn't really take notice and proceeded to spend the night dancing (badly, I'm sure) to really horrible music (unavoidable in Spain). When we finally went to leave, we noticed that Bob had already left, so the rest of us made our way to our abode in Plaza Catalunya.
Not quite ready to go to bed yet, Ryan, Al, and I hung out in the lobby for a while. At some point I went into my/our room to do something and I saw Bob passed out on his bed. It was a funny picture because he was shirtless (as usual), but had his laptop resting on his chest. He had clearly passed out while on the computer. Since I thought it was a funny picture, I went out to get Ryan and show him. He said that he'd already seen him and he was going to tell me about Bob passed out with his computer on his chest and his hands in his pants, but he forgot. I told him he didn't have his hands in his pants now and asked, "Was he watching porn or something?" Ryan said no, he was watching a TV show and I dismissed it. A little later, we went to go to bed and I asked Ryan to take Bob's laptop off his chest so it wouldn't get damaged if he moved in his sleep. Ryan did and that's when he discovered the porn. I believe it was called Naughty America. And so there it was: Bob had left the club to go fondle himself to porn in a shared hostel room and he passed out in the act.
Barely able to control our maniacal giggling, Ryan and I ran out of the room and went and told Al. Al, thinking this was hilarious, immediately grabbed his camera and went back in the room to take video, which basically consisted of Ryan taking the computer off of Bob's chest, showing us the porn, and various pans back and forth from still-sleeping Bob and the porno. What was particularly interesting about the whole thing was the nature of the porn. It was so straight-laced and normal. Heterosexual, one-on-one, fairly normal looking people. It pretty much exemplified Bob himself. I thought it was weird because you'd think that someone so normal seeming must have at least some weird fetish or something, but no, Bob just wanted to come home and watch some blonde, non-implanted girl take her bikini top off. Maybe he had a porn in a semi-public place fetish? I didn't stick around to find out... I made sure to not be around when he woke up. One will never know how much he figured out about the night.
p.s. the picture is of this little Nativity scene that some family that lives by Park Guell had. I will never cease to be amazed by some people's Xmas decorating...
I'm back from a super fun long weekend in Barcelona. I'll write in more detail later (once I get caught up with real work), but the trip can basically be summed up as: drinking, walking, looking for things and not finding them (note: four shitty maps do not take the place of one good map). I'll have some more pix and hopefully a video up in a few days.
I'm going to Barcelona for the next few days. You see, I have my first guest (!), Ryan from Atlanta, and entertaining someone for five days in Tarragona is impossible.
Here is the plate of sardines that almost killed me yesterday (probably an exaggeration, but remember how everyone used to warn you about fish bones?). Anyway, one was lodged in my throat (I think it still is actually). I had to go to the bathroom of the restaurant. I literally stuck my finger down my throat to feel around for the bone. I wouldn't recommend it, but it was kind of a crazy sensation--there's some weird shit down there. It made me vomit a little bit three times and when I got out of the bathroom, and old woman waiting gave me a look. Pretty sure she thought I was in there trying to get rid of some calories...
(the sardines were delicious though)
1. This morning it rained and was cold and was windy. More so than I have ever seen here before. I went out onto the terrace where we do laundry and I felt like I was on a ship at sea, in the middle of a storm. I checked the internet to see the cold, hard truth of this horrible weather. It said it was 55 degrees. Wow. I must really have become wimpy in the 11 years since I left Michigan. I felt kind of lame. But then I looked at the wind speed and it was going strong at 30 miles per hour. I've never been much of a wind speed watcher (in the Michigan and Boston days I was definitely a wind chill watcher though), but 30 mph seems pretty damn fast. So, I don't really have a point here except that it was shockingly cold and windy this morning. And that all my laundry got wet. Again. Which brings me to my next point.
2. I have been trying to do the same load of laundry for a week. Sometimes I exaggerate for the sake of a story, but this time I am not. You see, we don't have a dryer/dryers are pretty rare here. So all the clothes hang dry. Or, in my hang and get rained on. And there's something about that--getting rained on--that makes the clothes smell horrible. It might be that there is a big petrochemical industry around here, I'm not sure. But if your clothes get rained on, you pretty much have to wash them again. And that third wash was this morning. I managed to snag some almost dry stuff off the line last night, which was a good thing because otherwise I'd be freeballing it today (see #3). But even that stuff, which had been hanging in the wind, in the sun, wasn't all the way dry. I spread it all out on my bed and then put my space heater on full blast. Today I put one of my slighty damp shirts on. I guess this is just what the Spanish do in the winter?
3. As any of you who read gossip blogs have noticed, a lot of starlets have been flashing their vaginas lately. I've thought about this and yes, I've looked at the pictures and my conclusion is this: vaginas aren't attractive. I feel like this is a very un-feminist thing for me to say, but then I read this article on Nerve that made me feel better about that thought. And, just for the record, penises aren't really attractive either. I mean, there's a time and a place. It's like that Seinfeld episode with the good naked and the bad naked. Good naked: nude beaches, when you're going to have sex, porn, etc. Bad naked: flashing your snatch as you're getting out of a car. It's just not hot. And Britney is totally not hot either. I don't know. Maybe guys enjoy it. I feel like if I were a guy, I would want to see someone who is hot's lady place. Not someone who just gave birth and has gross hair extensions (I guess maybe guys wouldn't notice the extensions though). Anyway, that's my verdict. I don't want to see more celebrity vaginas. The circumstances in which they're photographed are not hot; drunk, rich, obnoxious girls are not hot.
4. If you've been reading this blog for more than a few days, you will notice a change in it's look. I'm still messing around with colors a bit, but what do you think? I can't make the red text go away. I don't know where it's coming from. Is the pink too hard on the eyes? Suggestions please!
5. A while ago, I almost got a dog. Since then, I have been moderately obsessed with the Atlanta Pet Rescue website. For a while, I would follow all the dogs' stories and their adoptions. Now I just look at them all and read the occasional description. And, I admit, I sometimes choke up over the Happy Tales/Tails section. (I quote, "I never knew I could love him so much.") I think I still look at the site because, well, because looking at cute animals makes me happy. I think it makes everyone happy, so I'm going to put cute doggie pictures up now and then. Or maybe every post. Who knows. They're all from Atlanta Pet Rescue, if you see one you want to get. The beagle on this post has already been adopted, but I posted her picture because she reminded me of Snoopy, my childhood (and partially adulthood--he died when he was 18 or 19) dog. He used to make the same face when my brother and I blew into his nose (not directly into it [we found it highly entertaining]). He is also making what my college roommates and I called "fart eyes" (like you just smelled your own fart and liked it; it was generally attributed to cats). So, I dedicate these photos to Snoopy and fart eyes and homeless dogs everywhere. 
Oh my God! I just saw these on Coolhunting. Teacups where the stain is part of the design!! How cool is that?!?! Here's the link if you want to read about them: http://www.coolhunting.com/archives/2006/12/stain_teacups.php
I want some!!! (It does totally make me think about the stains on my teeth, though).
And now, a little photo homage to all my pals who let me know they miss and love me and who listen to me freak out about things, therefore making my life over here a bit easier. I love you guys!
This is a little last-minute add... Al's been kind of mum lately, but Brooks does a lot to cheer me up.
Chad, taking a shot so that I will not have to suffer the next morning
The Dark Ones: Mara, Joanne, and Me
Little Jason, Laurie, and Mara (Laughing at Something VERY Not PC)
Big Jason (sans ascot)
Shocker: Liz, Me, and Donnie
My Michigan Ladies: Rachel and Mairi
ALWAYS There for Me: Eric and Suzan
I Hate to Name Drop, But... Cameron ("Cam"), Leo, and Colton
Laurie, Mercedes, MikeWright, Suzy, and Clare: Four on One
My Friends are Hot: Donnie, Kasey, and Mara
And They Know How to Have a Good Time: Sarah, Clare, Laura, Emily, Larry
I am not promising 100% glee, but at least something that will actually make people want to read this. So, no more complaining about my life, at least if it's not humorous or poetic in some way.
I really enjoy the elevator in my building. There's something about the light and the pattern on the ceiling... It's a very rickety elevator and you're pushing it if you have the recommended number of people (4) in there, but it doesn't really bother me. Sometimes if it's late at night (think between 4-6 a.m.), I take pictures of myself in the elevator. None of them are good, but I think this one showcases my beloved elevator nicely, even if you can't see the ceiling (the white button is for my floor--it's special!)
I just found I got rejected for a grant for the third time. I've been rejected for other grants too, so if you count them all up, it's actually six rejections (I think). No, wait, it's actually eight! But the third from the same agency is the one that hurts. Because it's from the one that I think I had the best chance with. Because I'm already here in the field. And because it means that I'm now going to be returning to Atlanta with no funding. (Which means that I will have to get a job, which means that it's going to take even longer for me to finish this &@!($&@ PhD.)
And besides all that, it makes me feel like my research is worthless, at least in the eyes of one of the biggest funding agencies. And making me feel like my research is worthless doesn't really help my morale when, more and more, I'm feeling like I really don't want to be here. Argh!
Serenity now!
I'm sure things will get better. And hopefully, if my evil plan works, I will write an awesome dissertation that will be easily (i.e. effortlessly) translated into a book that will make me extremely wealthy and will afford me the opportunity to give the finger to the granting agencies that all rejected me. That's probably (definitely) pushing it, but if what they say is true about things that don't kill you making you stronger, well, I'm going to get out of here with some superpowers or something.
