The Dictionary on a Macintosh computer concludes its entry about Sigmund Freud with this sentence:
"His theory of the sexual origin of neuroses aroused great controversy."
Monday, July 27, 2009
Barred Soap
It's impossible to escape the truth: I have dropped the soap in the shower. Two bars in a row have been lost to the unnerving undergrowth of the shower floor.
What drives me crazy is that I avoided bar soap for years, and then splurged on some fancy stuff. It was pear-scented, which means it was particularly delectable to my happy little nose. I only used about half of the bar when it fell rather pathetically onto the shower floor last night, causing immediate frustration. But luckily I'd finished washing, so... you know. I was done. But then, so was the bar of soap.
But this incident was was a much calmer version than that of a few weeks ago, in which a lavender bar went flying out of my hand. I'd only washed an arm so far, so I rather delicately retrieved the stuff, washed it off, and (feeling a little dirty) tried for the other arm. The soap, not to be thwarted, leaped out of my hand again, bounced off the wall, and scooted around the shower stall.
I was not calm. In a fit of fury and yet-unwashed rage, I stomped the soap into the shower drain, leaving chunks of flowery-smelling lye around the floor (my bathing flip flops had never been cleaner).
But my rage eventually subsided, as all things do. I have politely rejected bar soap from my life, and tonight I shall return to the welcoming arms of liquid shower gel.
What drives me crazy is that I avoided bar soap for years, and then splurged on some fancy stuff. It was pear-scented, which means it was particularly delectable to my happy little nose. I only used about half of the bar when it fell rather pathetically onto the shower floor last night, causing immediate frustration. But luckily I'd finished washing, so... you know. I was done. But then, so was the bar of soap.
But this incident was was a much calmer version than that of a few weeks ago, in which a lavender bar went flying out of my hand. I'd only washed an arm so far, so I rather delicately retrieved the stuff, washed it off, and (feeling a little dirty) tried for the other arm. The soap, not to be thwarted, leaped out of my hand again, bounced off the wall, and scooted around the shower stall.
I was not calm. In a fit of fury and yet-unwashed rage, I stomped the soap into the shower drain, leaving chunks of flowery-smelling lye around the floor (my bathing flip flops had never been cleaner).
But my rage eventually subsided, as all things do. I have politely rejected bar soap from my life, and tonight I shall return to the welcoming arms of liquid shower gel.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
They're Called Classics: "Singin' in the Rain"
At the end of a month-long Netflix free trial, I have spent the ENTIRE weekend watching old movies on my computer. I can't even recall... any of them, actually, but the credits of Singin' in the Rain finally rolled just an hour ago.
I know it appears to be just a hokey musical from 1952, but it's really enjoyable. It's about film stars and studios who have to make the transition from silent films to "talkies." The male lead isn't terrible, but the female is a dumb blond whose high-pitched voice would make Fran Fine cry. Thus, a plot is born.
What's so great is that this isn't a romance, though there are a few sweet moments. The poster shows three characters: the main character, his love interest, and his best friend. But they're all co-workers and good friends, as evidenced by a musical number together.
Though only Gene Kelley's character literally follows the title's instruction by singing in a rainstorm, the characters metaphorically do it too. Despite the studio's trouble with incorporating a new style of film, these three make the best of the dreary situation and brainstorm a way to success. Thus, they sing in the rain and are "happy again."
By the way, a note on the lead actor, Gene Kelley, that famous dancer who (among other things) tap dances with Stewie on Family Guy. He has the prettiest smile I've ever seen. He looks rather like Dick Van Dyke in that respect.
Overall, excellent movie. I may watch it again.
I know it appears to be just a hokey musical from 1952, but it's really enjoyable. It's about film stars and studios who have to make the transition from silent films to "talkies." The male lead isn't terrible, but the female is a dumb blond whose high-pitched voice would make Fran Fine cry. Thus, a plot is born.What's so great is that this isn't a romance, though there are a few sweet moments. The poster shows three characters: the main character, his love interest, and his best friend. But they're all co-workers and good friends, as evidenced by a musical number together.
Though only Gene Kelley's character literally follows the title's instruction by singing in a rainstorm, the characters metaphorically do it too. Despite the studio's trouble with incorporating a new style of film, these three make the best of the dreary situation and brainstorm a way to success. Thus, they sing in the rain and are "happy again."
By the way, a note on the lead actor, Gene Kelley, that famous dancer who (among other things) tap dances with Stewie on Family Guy. He has the prettiest smile I've ever seen. He looks rather like Dick Van Dyke in that respect.
Overall, excellent movie. I may watch it again.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Glass in the Aluminum and Other Replacements
Well the Fourth has passed, and I hope everyone had a fun holiday. I went home for some fishyness and home cooking, and stayed an extra day for a dentist appointment.
The dentist (a kind-faced, chatty gentleman) had to put a filling in my back tooth, so he began with a shot of Novocaine. I really am not afraid of needles, truly, but I just don't like them at all. So despite his delicate needlework, my eyes ogled as though he wielded an instrument of torture.
Poor guy. I forgot to tell him that it didn't actually hurt at all. Instead I chatted with him and the nurse about Marilyn Monroe, Arthur Miller, and Tennessee Williams.
I enjoyed my extra Monday off until I realized a slight issue with my car's passenger-side window: it wouldn't roll up. It would go down, yes, but not back up. A window that only goes down is like an elevator that only goes down--you can only use it once.
I was very fortunate to be able to squeeze my car in for an appointment on Tuesday. The local mechanic fixed the motor, and I only had to take off another day of work. But those who know me may remember that I don't like concrete plans to be broken. If I intend to do something at a particular time, I hate delay. But now I'm back at work, no harm done, and my window goes in all directions in order to protect from rain and robbers.
Those who know me also know that there is a large crack in my car's windshield. It's been slowly multiplying in an asexual manner, and threatening to take over my car. (When driving, I wear sunglasses for when the glass finally implodes on my face.)
But there is a garage headquartered an hour from school that does auto glass repair. I had enlisted Corey to drive me there & back, but hesitated to beg such extreme time & mileage. HOWEVER, it seems that this auto service typically goes TO the car. So a mechanic is coming tomorrow to fix my windshield! The foot-plus crack shall be gone forever!
Hooray! It is a week of fixing broken necessary things.
The dentist (a kind-faced, chatty gentleman) had to put a filling in my back tooth, so he began with a shot of Novocaine. I really am not afraid of needles, truly, but I just don't like them at all. So despite his delicate needlework, my eyes ogled as though he wielded an instrument of torture.
Poor guy. I forgot to tell him that it didn't actually hurt at all. Instead I chatted with him and the nurse about Marilyn Monroe, Arthur Miller, and Tennessee Williams.
I enjoyed my extra Monday off until I realized a slight issue with my car's passenger-side window: it wouldn't roll up. It would go down, yes, but not back up. A window that only goes down is like an elevator that only goes down--you can only use it once.
I was very fortunate to be able to squeeze my car in for an appointment on Tuesday. The local mechanic fixed the motor, and I only had to take off another day of work. But those who know me may remember that I don't like concrete plans to be broken. If I intend to do something at a particular time, I hate delay. But now I'm back at work, no harm done, and my window goes in all directions in order to protect from rain and robbers.
Those who know me also know that there is a large crack in my car's windshield. It's been slowly multiplying in an asexual manner, and threatening to take over my car. (When driving, I wear sunglasses for when the glass finally implodes on my face.)
But there is a garage headquartered an hour from school that does auto glass repair. I had enlisted Corey to drive me there & back, but hesitated to beg such extreme time & mileage. HOWEVER, it seems that this auto service typically goes TO the car. So a mechanic is coming tomorrow to fix my windshield! The foot-plus crack shall be gone forever!
Hooray! It is a week of fixing broken necessary things.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
The Summer Campus
Most people believe that a school such as ours doesn’t have much going on during the summer. Maybe a few people are in their offices, checking finances or making repairs. But there are no summer classes, so most students are at home enjoying a season of non-academia, certain that because they are not at school, it must have ceased to exist.
Au contraire, mes amis. This place is jumping.
There are dozens of students living in the dorms for on-campus research and internships. Plus, the college hosts a number of business conferences and retreats. Real-world adults routinely mill about the walkways on their way to the next meeting. Then there are the kids.
A nation-wide learning program has set up camp right here on campus. “Talented” and “accelerated” students of all ages enroll in summer sessions, and we’ve got what can only be described as middle schoolers. Some are super-cool, some are immature, and ALL are noisy during free time on the library terrace. Noisy includes soccer, foursquare, singing, and general debauchery.
Perhaps their teachers beat into silence and stillness during class, and this is why they feel the need to express themselves at all outdoors times. But perhaps it is better that they learn early how to shake the earth, rather than shake the buildings. They’re kids. They’re loving it.
So, what have we here? A campus devoid of “real” college life as we know it, but overflowing with people of all ages, escaping the slumdragging confines of day-to-day reality. Escaping to the place that shelters us for an entire school year, but releases us into the world every summer. This is a living place.
Au contraire, mes amis. This place is jumping.
There are dozens of students living in the dorms for on-campus research and internships. Plus, the college hosts a number of business conferences and retreats. Real-world adults routinely mill about the walkways on their way to the next meeting. Then there are the kids.
A nation-wide learning program has set up camp right here on campus. “Talented” and “accelerated” students of all ages enroll in summer sessions, and we’ve got what can only be described as middle schoolers. Some are super-cool, some are immature, and ALL are noisy during free time on the library terrace. Noisy includes soccer, foursquare, singing, and general debauchery.
Perhaps their teachers beat into silence and stillness during class, and this is why they feel the need to express themselves at all outdoors times. But perhaps it is better that they learn early how to shake the earth, rather than shake the buildings. They’re kids. They’re loving it.
So, what have we here? A campus devoid of “real” college life as we know it, but overflowing with people of all ages, escaping the slumdragging confines of day-to-day reality. Escaping to the place that shelters us for an entire school year, but releases us into the world every summer. This is a living place.
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