Archive for September, 2007

Curses, foiled again

Superman had Lex Luthor; Spiderman, the Green Goblin. Luke had Darth Vader, Napoleon had the Duke of Wellington. History, literature, and film are all full of these classic hero-and-nemesis pairings; they’re essential to the storytelling traditions of the world, the pivotal good-versus-evil binary: Perseus and Medusa, Elizabeth Bennett and Lady Katherine. In fact, I’m lucky enough to be blessed with an arch-nemesis to call my own, the Wicked Witch of the West to my Dorothy: my hair.

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There’s a lesson here, isn’t there?

Apartment hunting is some crazy business, let me tell you.

It’s particularly crazy since I just came on board this venture with a couple of fellow Interior Design majors, oh, two days ago or so. It happened sort of all at once: there I was in studio, minding my own business, not knowing what I’d be doing for housing next year, as long as it wasn’t the dorms, because enough already; the next thing I knew, there were phone calls to realtors and viewing appointments being made, “Well, it’s $475 per person per month, but that includes utilities” this and “Oh man, I’ve never even heard of that street” that. It was just so sudden, and the market here moves so fast (so, naturally, we’re trying to keep up), that I’ve spent the past couple of days wandering around muttering things like “Furnishings included, no pets” to no one in particular and having dreams about palatial, Pottery Barn-esque houses with jacuzzis in all the bathrooms.

(Ironically enough, I initially mistyped “no pets” as “no poets.” Hee.)

Continue reading ‘There’s a lesson here, isn’t there?’

You would think

You would think that your typical cinderblock dorm wall would, you know, do its job and act as a thermal, visual, and, most importantly, acoustical barrier between your room and your neighbor’s room, because your neighbor is a theater major, one of the ones who started out in Musical Theater but ended up getting shunted into Acting for whatever reason, and has this thing for singing showtunes very loudly and not…prettily, so it’s a good thing that thick concrete wall is there.

You would, however, have to think again.

You would think that the nice, heavy, all-metal, vintage-style fan, which you bought for about half price at The Great Indoors because it was a floor model and all the other new-in-box faux-vintage fans were ridiculously expensive and you’re just a poor college student who nonetheless demands stylish and affordable air-moving solutions, would be just fine sitting on a windowsill with the window open and a bit of a breeze moving through, because: heavy.


But, apparently, you would have to think again.

You would think that, um, a friend of yours, who has spent the past several weeks bemoaning the oppressive heat and humidity of the Central New York summer and annoying his friends by whining constantly about how Colorado weather is a dry heat and it’s absolutely perfect ALL THE TIME never mind those little thunderstorms it’s so much better why can’t I go baaaack, would look upon the arrival of a nice, chilly, westerly wind (see above re: fan) as an auspicious herald of cooler days, relief from the sauna of the previous week, and not as a harbinger of winter doomsday and reason to gripe about being cold.

You would, of course, have to think again.


Yesterday evening, I was slogging my way through a couple of highly technical readings for a class. They were in .pdf format, so I opted to read them on my laptop rather than spend the ink to print them out – I would generally prefer to read from a tactile object, but I had already used half of my brand-new black cartridge printing previous readings for the same class, which, “thanks,” professor. Anyway, there I was, hunched in front my computer reading an essay titled “A Cognitive-Historical Perspective in Human Computer Interaction” or something like that, ruining my retinas, listening to iTunes on shuffle, just waiting until the page count at the bottom of the Adobe Reader hit that magic “16 of 16.” Another night at SU.

And then something weird happened. The lyric in the song playing at the moment (Joanna Newsom’s “Only Skin”) hit the word “pockets,” just as I read the exact same word in the essay.


Okay, okay. I mean, it wasn’t exactly an earth-shattering occurrence or anything, but there was just something about it I found fascinating – that tiny temporal crossroads, two completely disparate entities coinciding for the briefest of moments, crossing paths in some way. I sort of have a thing for small strangenesses like that; I’ll use some mildly uncommon word in a paper one day, and the next day a professor for a different class will use the same word in her lecture, and I’ll just think “…heh” to myself. I don’t know. I like noticing these things. It gives a certain layer of meaning to an otherwise totally mundane situation. It feels like sharing a secret with the universe.

Or maybe it’s just a coincidence and I am, as per usual, reading way too much into it. You know, whichever.