2011 in Retrospect

January: I spent the first month of the year working at UNC Press, a short internship which I enjoyed very much.  The people were kind, the work was interesting if not very stimulating, and it was my first experience with working full time.  My strongest memories, though, are of the place, Chapel Hill, where I stayed with my aunt and uncle.  Culturally it had everything I could want—streets lined with quaint little shops, several more metropolitan areas with malls and movie theatres, and a private, rural place to retreat to at the end of the day.  I think I’d like nothing better than to end up in a place like that.

February: On the fifth of this month, I sailed off to London for the beginning of my semester abroad.  (And by sailed, I mean figuratively speaking, though someday I would love to take a ship across the ocean.)  I was both thrilled and terrified by the experience.  I will always remember that first day—I spent most of the flight staring out the window, even when it was dark; met up immediately with my best friend in Heathrow, from whence we took a taxi to our respective homestays.  I was struck by how much my host family reminded me of my grandparents—lovely, politely brisk people who were immediately welcome and comfortable with me there.  They escorted me up to my small, third-floor room, where I shut the door, collapsed on the bed and had a minor panic attack at the idea of being so far from home.

March: I quickly acclimated, however.  I was not only abroad, but living in a big city for the first time, and it was a thrilling experience.  The culture of the city—food, plays, history, parks, everything—was marvelous, and I had many friends to accompany me.  I maintain that this semester is what cured me of the worst of my anti-socialism.  March also included a trip to Budapest, which was absolutely incredible, an opportunity I never would have thought to have, and to Oxford with a group of friends. 

April: Classes in London were remarkably easy—I had little trouble keeping up.  We had tea breaks in the middle of the three-hour classes, and my Shakespeare course involved several trips to see plays.  Twice I visited the Globe, which was wonderful (if a bit chilly).  The class also had a chance to visit Stratford-upon-Avon, a beautiful place, and later in the month was a trip to Bath.  Simply looking out the bus windows at the countryside was memorable.  On the last week of the month was our spring break, and I spent the first weekend of it in Ireland, a trip that I’d been looking forward to for many years.  I visited Dingle, the little town where my father’s family came from, but I spent more time memorizing the land itself than looking for its people.  The rocky coastlines, the startling green hills, and the smell and color of gorse in the cool morning—it was magnificent.  I sprained my foot and got a terrible sunburn, but still returned to England quite content.

May: By the time the end of the semester came around, I was ready to come home.  I’m not someone easily afflicted by wanderlust: I don’t like living out of a suitcase, and just the idea that I will be leaving a place in a short time makes me restless and uneasy.  I miss many things about London—the convenience of the underground, the numberless theatres, and (I confess) the cheap and healthy food from Marks & Spencer or Pret a Manger—but America is where I belong, and I was happy to be back with my family.

June, July, & August: I knot these together because they were rather homogenous.  My summer job was simply acquired by emailing my student work supervisor, who hires an assistant every summer.  She was glad to have me, and so I came and worked nine to five, living at Hollins and walking to work every morning.  It was a comfortable time—the campus was quiet, I was familiar with my work in the archives, and I had the freedom in the evenings of going out or staying in, writing or surfing the web.  The one notable event of these two months was my twenty-first birthday in July, on which occasion my parents drove up to visit me and take me out to dinner.  Soon after, I drove over to Richmond to visit my roommate Taylor, who brought me along to a “party” at a friend’s house, which was not impressive and served an excess of rather non-impressive drinks.  A very memorable event.  August culminated with the purchase of my first car, a white Hyundai which I christened Baxter.

September: This was the beginning of my senior year, and I remember spending much of it trying to straighten out my very busy schedule.  I was taking three classes, two private music lessons, was involved in two choirs, and was working fifteen hours a week, on top of beginning my honors thesis.  To me, September has always seemed interminable, and I don’t really like to remember it.

October: On the contrary, October seemed to race by.  I was finally settling into my schedule, finished with several different projects and not quite ready to face final projects yet.  It was a good month for my creativity, writing my thesis as well as other projects, and also in writing music.  I also began to realize just how much of a hermit I had been the past three years of attending Hollins.  Somewhat to my surprise, I found that I had a bit of a social life now, and even more surprising, I liked it.

November: I had a meeting midway through this month with my creative writing professor.  When I told her I wanted to continue writing after school, she recommended I meet with a friend of hers, the editor of a local business magazine.  I appreciated this because it meant she believed I not only could continue writing, but should.  This very cheering news was followed by other pieces of good news, among them an invitation to join the English honors society and the continuing approval of my thesis advisor on my novel.  On the other hand, computer troubles over Thanksgiving break only added to the stress of the coming exam days.

December: This month began with exams and almost a straight ten days of choir rehearsals and performances.  It’s in times like this that you really have to live one day at a time.  Finally, however, I was finished, and I retreated home for a few weeks of rest before returning for the home stretch on my education.

All in all, an excellent year.  I think I learned a good bit about myself as well as about the world around me.  I hope, however, that 2012 will bring more excitement, novelty, and opportunity into my life.  Happy new year, everyone!

Watch Out, Your Genius is Burning

I generally consider myself a creative person.  I have at least sixteen different ideas for stories written in my various journals, ready to be pulled out, polished, and set to paper.  My problem-solving skills are good, even if my ideas are sometimes a little out there.  I can make a puzzle out of any sheet of text, and though I can’t draw at all, I can get around that with geometric patterns that come out looking very cool (to me anyway).  But put me in front of a well-stocked refrigerator, and I’m lost.

Cooking is truly an art form, and becoming more and more so every day.  With the increasing complexity of microwave dinners, a real, honest-to-goodness made-from-scratch meal is a rarity and a joy.  It takes time, careful attention, and skill, and still a small miscalculation can lead to flames leaping out of the oven.  The word “homemade” implies a very great gift.

Unlike other art forms, however, cooking does not require full knowledge of the basics before one can experiment.  I’m still fuzzy on how to sauté, simmer, or julienne anything, though they are all marvelous verbs.  But today I made very good nachos with meat and “homemade” queso, the latter created by melting wedges of Happy Cow cheese with a bit of milk.  Maybe that’s not really cooking—“alchemy” is probably a better word.  But it tasted pretty good to me.

I’m just a beginner, though.  Over the years I’ve watched my younger brother and older sister dig through a fridge I had judged devoid of anything edible, and come up with quick snacks that looked and smelled marvelous—cheesy bread with herbs, pretzels and Nutella.  This kind of creativity can make something new and delicious out of something old and/or not aesthetically pleasing.  It’s not something that comes easily to me, and more and more these days I appreciate it in others.

Someday I want to be able to cook for real—to take fresh ingredients (“real food” says my mother with a sneer for the dried and frozen things I bring home from the store) and make them into edible and attractive dishes.  In the meantime, however, I will experiment and make messes and eat what I create no matter whether it’s good or bad or sick-making.  After all, that’s the best way to learn.

Other People's Houses

It always seems darker at night when you’re in a strange place.  This Christmas I’m house-sitting for one of my mother’s good friends, and I spent last night wandering through the house trying to find a nightlight for my room.  I can’t count how many times I ran into something on my wandering.

It’s very odd to be living in a place that’s pre-arranged for someone else.  Here I have all the things that I would like to have someday in my own home—an extensive music collection with a good sound system, a fireplace and a grandfather clock in the sitting room, an old dog and a faintly hostile cat.  And all the time I am constantly aware that none of it is mine. 

Homes are intensely personal spaces.  I think I would feel odd letting someone stay alone in my home for several days.  At least this one has a lived-in feeling—there are some houses I’ve visited that are absolutely immaculate.  In these, I look around and wonder where the mess is hiding.  I think it’s better if there is a bit of mess: signs of imperfection tend to be reassuring to most of us.

Having lived for a good long time in one dorm room or another, I’ve dreamt quite a bit about what my future home will be like.  I can’t yet see it clearly, but I know it will be a reflection of myself: something quirky, untidy, filled with rich colors and knick-knacks from here and there.  And I hope that whoever comes through my door will find it welcoming.

Making Plans

Christmas is a time for plans.  Every family has their little rituals—a certain critter to put on top of the tree, a way to hang the stockings, a planned lunch and shopping afternoon.  Sometimes the traditions don’t really make sense, but people are happier if everything is as it was before.

I’ve been learning recently that I, too, am happier if I have a routine, a day-to-day plan for what I’m going to do.  I’m healthier, too—can’t forget to eat breakfast or brush my teeth every morning if it’s on my schedule, can I?  But when it comes to big plans, like where I will be next summer or where I’m going to go after graduation, I haven’t got a clue.  And I kind of like it that way.

All my life I’ve had plans.  For most of it they were other people’s plans for me.  Every year I went through school because my parents and the government said I had to.  My parents chose vacations for me, or else my teachers organized them.  After high school graduation, I had my own plans to work on: go to college, study abroad for a semester, polish up my writing and my music.  Now, however, I’m climbing up the diving board and beginning to see the big empty space out there.  There’s just five more months for me, and after that—after May 20^th, 2012, to be precise—my life is one big blank.

It’s terrifying, yes.  But when I was a kid, I always loved diving: the quick twitch of your heart as you make the jump—the way your body feels in midair—even the cold shock of the water around your head.  It was my favorite thing about swimming, and I would do it again and again.

The thing is, I see that huge emptiness as opportunity.  I can do anything: apply for a job at a resort, plan a road trip across the country, go skydiving and bungee jumping and parasailing.  I could go anywhere—Los Angeles, London, Paris, or Abu Dabi.  There are probably places I shouldn’t go, things I shouldn’t do, but the fact is that I can do them anyway if the fancy suits me.  The world is my snowglobe, and it’s time to shake it up a little bit.  It’s time to not have plans, to make mistakes and correct them, and to find out what it is I really want to do.  And I’m telling you, I can’t wait to make the dive.

For the People?

On NPR this morning, I heard a bit more about the escalating presidential campaign efforts going on out there in the world.  I can’t give any details about it because I did my best to tune it out.  I refuse to think about it for another six months. 

Now, I realize that I’m just another blogger whining about something wrong with the system.  Feel free to tune me out, as well.  But I just wonder about the logistics of American government.  A president has four years to serve, and some of the latter part of that must be spent fighting to keep his position.  Meanwhile the American people elect a president with great fanfare, support him for the first year, become apathetic for the second, and then turn their attention to the new hopefuls beginning to spout their claims for the position.  This is one person’s perspective, but it’s what I see, and it seems like a waste of time.  I’d imagine there are more people than just me who are tired of the necessary jumping through hoops that politicians do every four years.

When I was in London in the spring, my political science professor expressed amazement at the large percentage of Americans who dislike and distrust their government.  Now why is that, in a nation professed to be governed by the people?  I can’t help but wonder if the system of government designed almost two hundred and fifty years ago might need a little bit of shaking up.  For instance: six year terms for the president instead of four.  The man (or the woman—let’s be optimistic) in the Oval Office might then have enough time to learn to navigate the infamous struggles in Congress and actually accomplish something.  We still have impeachment for the bad eggs, and if we’re not afraid to use it, politicians would actually pay attention to it.

Or here’s an idea—put the government online.  In the past it would have been impossible to poll the entire nation on small issues, but not now when every John and Jane Doe have internet and can use it.  What if, for the problems the politicians can’t solve alone, we were to bring in the people?  Polls on Google, or voting available online—with careful security measures, of course.  I have a feeling that with the continuing desire to do everything from the comfort of one’s own home, a lot more people would take interest if we wired the government.

Maybe they’re silly ideas.  I’m no politician, I admit that.  But the fact that a majority of Americans don’t even pay attention to what’s going on in their government is alarming to me.  Maybe if we make some changes to the way things are done, we can catch the attention of the people again.  The ones who are, after all, supposedly in charge of this nation.

Some Things I Wonder About

—Why is it Itunes, but Youtube?

—Mismatched socks that you drop on the way back from the laundromat: where do they go?  Does someone pick them up and use them in some kind of art project (very possible at my school)?  Or should I blame trolls?

—Why are coffee makers called baristas?  Is there a verb barist to go along with that?

—Why do I see people’s complaints about the changes on facebook before I actually see the changes?

—Some languages are read left to right.  Some are read right to left.  Some are read top to bottom.  Are there any that are read bottom to top?  What about in spirals?

—The song, the Little Drummer Boy.  Beautiful song, but what mother would let someone play a drum for a newborn baby? 

—Why does Rudolph’s nose glow red?  I’d be worried about radioactivity if I were him.  On a similar note, how did anyone come up with the idea of flying reindeer?

—How many decades has it been since anyone went riding in a one-horse open sleigh?     

Think Before Speaking: Strange Slang

“Any language in which the unassuming word fly signifies an annoying insect, a means of travel, and a critical part of a gentleman’s apparel is clearly asking to be mangled.”  Bill Bryson

Being an English major, I realize what a strange language English really is.  We have more exceptions than we have rules, it seems, and some of the idioms we use make no sense at all.  Think about it.  Why is it appropriate for us to tell someone to “shoot” a question as if it were a gun (or a bullet, for that matter), while news is “laid” on us as if it is a blanket.  It’s a metaphoric, theoretical language, and sometimes the theory is a bit off.

I think, though, that the language used on college campuses is the most interesting and strange.  Granted, my being a college student might weight my opinion a bit, but there it is. There are several that I’ve been noticing lately, some that I like, others that I do not appreciate, but all are rather strange.

I'll begin with the ones I don’t like.  First on my list is “dank.”  My roommate first told me about this one, and it brought images of something out of Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado”—that dark, damp wine cellar where the narrator is about to imprison his enemy forever.  I’ve heard it used, however, as a positive adjective.  What?  Outside of beverages, there are few wet and cold things that I enjoy.  Add dark to the mix and I wash my hands of the matter.  Then again, I’m told we can blame marijuana for this one.  Not really a surprise, now that I think of it.

The next that I’ve heard more and more often is “totes.”  Now, to me, the word ‘totes’ is the plural of a word describing a flat bag with two handles, meant to hang under one’s arm and to hold books.  This makes sense to me.  What doesn’t make sense to me is the constant need to shorten words that actually aren’t that long to begin with.  It was already happening in email and text messaging, where ppl talk 2 u like this, as if avoiding as many keystrokes as possible.  Must this distressing trend carry to verbal English?  Please, America, tell me we are not that lazy.

Then there’s a classic, one that I intend to dust off and present again for some rumination.  This word is placed into almost every other sentence, by, like, the entire population of native English speakers.  The original meaning, I believe, was, like, something close to “something like,” which in itself implies a certain amount of, like, uncertainty in what we are saying.  I’m sure by now you know what I’m talking about.  When written, the word “like” stands out when it’s out of place, but in spoken language we hardly notice it.  Pay attention the next time you’re speaking to someone in casual settings, and see how many times you hear it.  It is frightening how much this has made its way into our language—like a fungus that coats the inside of a refrigerator within a day and a half.  (And that was actually the correct use of the word.)

There are a few strange new words which I appreciate, though.  Normally, when my friends tell me something and I don’t really have anything to say in reply, I will say, “Cool.”  It’s a filler word that I don’t really like, but it springs to my mouth very easily and seems to close a conversation nicely.  However, there are better words that serve this purpose.  A friend of mine uses “word” instead.  Though I can’t quite work out a way to make this make sense, I like it much better than my own habit.  Words are cool, after all, so it fits.

Finally, there is one which I heard today that I know will never catch on outside of the college community, but here it is a very practical term.  I have a roommate, and my roommate has a boyfriend.  Now, she has never had to ask me to leave so they can—ahem—have some privacy, but I would have understood it if she had.  I now have a word for this process: sexile.  Corny it might be, but I appreciate it very much.  After all, it really does explain itself, doesn’t it?  And that’s all you can really ask for from a language.

The nature of language is to grow and change.  You can’t stop it; you can’t go back.  All that you can do is complain about the words you don’t like, and use the ones that you do.  Thus, tonight’s post.  If it encourages people to think about what they’re saying, all the better.  I invite any comments about other strange words or usages people hear.  I will find more in the future, I’m sure.