6 posts tagged “photo phun”
I had a resentful encounter today two days ago at the camera store, which involved only receiving negatives of my photos instead of the actual, asked-for prints. In an ideal world, we (the store clerk and I) would have chosen champions to fight for our honor; or, lacking the funds or charm, we would simply have challenged the other to a duel without the help of a third party. I would have slapped him with my roll of negatives, although ideally my champion would have a leather glove and rapier. Ideally I would be drinking from his skull at the moment. Alas, this is not an ideal world, which is lucky for me as I am not that gruesome despite a couple of fond viewings of Braveheart.
Camera store? one might ask, though one never does. Yes, camera store, I might answer, even when one does not ask. I've recently gotten addicted to my new Holga camera, and a return to film in general. I am sick of digital cameras, and I have now invested an obscene amount of money in polaroid film and medium-format film. Of course, all this yields is a rather petulant shop clerk telling me he cannot print my film, even though it is regular 35mm. Which leaves me with negatives and a murderous desire.
But anyway, as classes have started today I have set about attempting to remember my schedule--
CHIN-112-01 INTENS SECOND LEV CHINESE II
FREN-366-01 SELF & SOCIETY IN 17THC FRANCE
LING-225-02 SYNTAX
LING-333-01 CROSS-CULTURAL COMMUNICATION
PHIL-159-01 EXISTENTIALISM
Given the above schedule, I hereby project that, by the end of this semester, I will be able to successfully--
1. use Chinglish with greater accuracy and flair,
2. extrapolate more on how LaFontaine plagiarized many of his stories (in French, of course),
3. correctly diagram a sentence at cocktail parties to the amusement and horror of others, and then subsequently wonder why I receive no more invitations to cocktail parties,
4. effectively cross cultural boundaries and misunderstandings with my global linguistic perspective and
5. have even more existential dilemmas, now with a greater abundance of philosophers from whom I will draw dispairing quotations.
Ah, higher education.
The greatest, and at the same time saddest, thing about to-do lists is the vindictive pleasure I get from crossing off every task. All that is left for me to do before winter break (I am, technically, allowed to say Christmas break, as I go to a Jesuit university where the Christian religion is not hid in a closet masked by fake secularism) is to finish proofreading ma dissertation finale (i.e., re-reading it 5437819456 more times) and then I shall have three days to cram an entire semester's worth of Chinese into my lackluster lobe.
In less successful news, I spent $53 at Barnes & Noble today for three people's presents. This is clearly unacceptable and cannot continue. I'm planning on going into the call center this week despite exams, as we get paid time and a half. I apparently now more than ever desperately need it.
PS--for any tea lovers who happen to be reading this, visit Special Teas and use the promotional code HOLIDAY6 to receive free shipping (if you order before the 12th. Um, tomorrow). They also give you free samples of tea, so in addition to my just-ordered, non-generic, flavored Earl Grey tea, I will also be getting a sample of some belovèd Irish Breakfast Tea.
I went to my first "real" concert last night at The Black Cat (I mean "real" because I have been informed that concerts at Carnegie Hall and other music halls don't count because I don't stand in a crowded room for three hours with blaring music). It was interesting, yes, and I still have black X's and stamps all over my hand this morning. But instead of enjoying the music, I began looking around at the people surrounding me, who were all bobbing their heads or swaying from side to side with the beat of the music. And when the lead singer began clapping his hands, everyone followed suit without any more provocation. The raised hands, the uniformity of all of their movement was more than a little disturbing, and as a result I spent half of the night trying to clap to a weird, stacatto unbeat--but most likely I just looked musically challenged. I couldn't rid my mind of a certain image, however--
The following marks my third installment of the PPP (Philosophy Post-It Project):
Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.
The piano practice room is a fitting place, I decided, to complement my other places (the study lounge in my dormitory and the mailbox area). It is only a matter of time before the entire campus is riddled with my adhesive joy, and with Natalie working as my partner-in-crime a day south of me, it shall be wonderous.
(By the way, thanks to Sabrina I decided to change the name from Natalie's original suggestion of Philosophy Post-It People to Philosophy Post-It Project, which sounds slightly more superior).
To change the subject drastically, I have lately been thinking of people's compulsive need (me included) to creat to-do lists for accomplishing goals. The more I think about it, however, the more existentially claustrophobic I become: it seems like every deed I cross off the list is one more deed closer to my finitude. I am, as one could say, keenly aware of my Tillichean anxiety of ultimate nonbeing, and it unsettles me greatly that I can organize my life according to a day-to-day list--
Sorry for my depressingclean room (die a little)
finish writing paper (die a little)
run to the drug store (die a little)
email professor (die a little)
Climbing fire escapes has been a hobby of mine since Québec, summer of 1998--
-----
I don't really have road rage. I have more of a passive-aggressive approach to rude drivers, being as I am convinced that if I were to show the usually appropriate amount of rage at being cut off or almost slammed into, I would be shot by an even more irate driver with a gun license (or without one). As such, instead of shouting, honking or flipping others off, I prefer to mumble darkly to myself, hoping they just might take a glance in their rear-view mirror and see my brooding gaze (I perfect it to a Heathcliff-like intensity). Or if at night, I suddenly have an urge to turn on my bright lights and blind them, although doubtless they were blind to begin with. Other tactics include tailgating in an attempt to make them feel guilty with my omnipresent reminder of their mistake.
But the other night, something changed. I stopped at a red light, and when it turned green, I thought it would be karma-improving for me to allow a certain truck to turn who had been waiting patiently for quite a while. This resulted in the typical dance of "You go--no, you go," I guess because he was also passive like myself (there should be a self-help group). Neither of us went, however, when the car behind me sped around me and jumped in front, even though the line of cars I was waiting in hadn't even moved an inch despite the green light taunting the annoyed commuters. I commenced my dark mumbles and fondled my light switch lovingly (no, I deigned not to turn it on), but as I was tailgaiting the perpetrator several streets later, I suddenly fell back and realized... I simply didn't care. It was, excuse the cliché, a very zen moment, and I let my dark cloud of mumbling anger leave me, and continued my peaceful way home. Would that all drives could be as pleasant as that one was.
Undoubtedly I will be back to my dark ways tomorrow.
Being as I have a brother aged just slightly over nineteen months, it is natural that I spend much of my summer vacation babysitting for no money. Generally he is rather easily amused, especially in the game of "Where is Alex?" This game consists of somehow covering his head with such devices as hands, pillow cases or blankets (to name a few of the things he loves to locate and destroy). It never ceases to amuse him, and I admit myself amused as well, jealously watching as he believes simply because of the fact that his eyes cannot see me, he is effectively hidden as I pretend to be startled every time that he reveals himself to me--assuming, of course, that his amusement is infantile glee at tricking me rather than a condescending scoff at my thinking he actually believes he is hidden. Still, I often wish disappearing were a simple case of covering my eyes.
I am going to the beach on Saturday, and I will doubtless return just as pale as before, but for a slight red tint to my cheeks and shoulders.
