tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-383286062024-02-19T18:02:49.561-08:00In_TransitA dame abroadCourtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-71368553662309440552008-06-16T20:07:00.000-07:002008-06-16T20:15:09.879-07:0034: What's My Age?Twice today I thought I was 18, then had to remind myself that I'm actually older. Not by much, but there is a certain symmetry in being 18 in 2008, despite knowing I was born in 1988. I don't suppose to explain how my mind jumps.<br /><br />A week or so ago a then coworker at Lush told me I ought to look into DJing. It had something to do with the mountain of mixtapes I made and 'the nice progression with songs'. She had no idea how much she fed my ego with that simple suggestion. Since I first realized what a mix was, I've been after my dad, my friends, and finally when I got my own computer, myself (if that makes sense) to make as many mixes as could possibly fit my current mood, or state of being. Hell, I wrote my transfer essay on it.<br /><br />My first mix led my dad to accuse me of musical ADHD. I think I've come a long way.<br /><br />I want to get involved in the radio at my new school in the fall. There will be no BU Central, and I think radio is my best shot for filling the musical void. Here's hoping they know what they're getting into.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-79652066477061520612008-05-27T05:56:00.000-07:002008-05-27T06:05:16.136-07:0033: Continental TransportationSo I just read this article in the New York Times about public transportation in European cities being your best bet when traveling this summer, what with the dollar weeping softly each and every time you trade it in for that more expensive euro model. And it made me miss UBahns and subways and RERS and buses- frankly, I wasn't expecting that. I know I love public transportation, mostly because I'm a cheap ass creeper who loves to watch people, but I didn't think it'd be something I would miss.<br /><br />It all goes along with my desire to assimilate as much as possible is any place, I suppose. I don't enjoy being a tourist- wearing fanny pack/money pooches, socks with sandals, speaking English loudly, and given the set menu (and not just because I don't eat meat). Public transportation puts you with the people, and makes me feel like I might actually live some place, especially if I'm figuring out the lines and such in another language. Plus, I like puzzles. And those mazes for you pencils that are on the backs of kids menus at restaurants.<br /><br />I miss Europe. I'm already planning a trip back, which is pawing at becoming a trip to Lebanon, which reflects the fact that I'm working two jobs this summer, and much as I love one (Lush!) and love the tips at another (coffee!...... Dunkin Donuts), it's soul crushing. And hard. And I'm feeling the old anxiety come back. Which found me meditating last night, because my brain started freaking out and I kept fixating on baby chicken bones. Yeah. That's what OCD/anxiety is like. <br /><br />I'm good though. I have an apartment for next year. A <a href="http://www.bikesnotbombs.org">bike</a> I'm saving up for. It stopped raining, and I'll be going for a run. This summer turned itself around nicely.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-89452142455077144982008-05-17T11:16:00.001-07:002008-05-17T11:26:15.072-07:0032: Missing Ireland is All About the FoodI've been missing Dublin more and more as I return to cooking. Two days ago I made a tofu curry, and I wanted more than anything as I ate it while reading 'Eat, Pray, Love' (the book that made its rounds through the flats last semester), was someone (Beth, Amanda) to taste it, to eat with me and laugh. I'm sitting outside the kitchen now, waiting for the Lemon Pudding Cake (courtesy of Vegan Dad) to bake so I can prove to my mom that I can indeed cook more than just those crazy chickpeas, and all I can remember is the first/last time I made that cake- still drunk, Easter morning, for our wonderful brunch.<br /><br />I guess it's no surprise that food triggers these memories- I mean, by the end of the semester I was crazy my mom's zitti and diner food like no one's business (and believe me, it became everyone's business since I bitched so much about it). I still associate the smell of wet parsley with my grandmother (but maybe that's just a generic old folks smell) and cleaning her home out after her death years ago. And now when I look to moving to Williamsburg, I'm basing living off of making sure I have access to kitchen (which is why I'll be living off campus).<br /><br />Food is a comfort, and a refuge, and a joy. And I hate not being about to share that with those I love, when I want to. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi0uqer-081LZ1to_cTKEXFZMatAEGwJfgcs10kcri206f-Tq5OpnAokqbpCf2OtOzxvliK4G8pohKVPil34A0VIonIbx4iKJey3VXFD1SLqBMzs8qod9Zx9SrXWBahJjDzNVx5Q/s1600-h/Misc.+Ireland+039.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi0uqer-081LZ1to_cTKEXFZMatAEGwJfgcs10kcri206f-Tq5OpnAokqbpCf2OtOzxvliK4G8pohKVPil34A0VIonIbx4iKJey3VXFD1SLqBMzs8qod9Zx9SrXWBahJjDzNVx5Q/s200/Misc.+Ireland+039.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201414237224896194" border="0" /></a>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-28593613470340592612008-04-22T01:39:00.000-07:002008-04-22T01:45:43.190-07:0031: Growing Up, Taking Names<span style="font-size:85%;"><br />As of ten hours ago, I was pretty decided I was going to </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >William and Mary</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> in Williamsburg, Virginia next fall. It's a great school, amazingly strong IR/Global Studies/Public Policy programs, and a good price. Hell, I was planning on becoming a resident of Virginia so my senior year I could just pay $16K.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >Providence College</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> accepted me too.<br />I just found out this morning </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >Rutgers</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> admitted me. I have to email them to find out what the aid offer is.<br /><br />I feel very befuddled. Probably because even though I thought I would get into every school I applied to, I didn't actually think it would happen. And it did.<br /><br />I wonder if that means I should have devoted more time to my applications as a senior in high school, instead of trying to get everything done at once while balancing a breakdown and way too many responsibilities.<br /><br />This grown up shit is weird.<br /></span><br /><br /><h3><span style=";font-family:";" >Mad Girl’s Love Song<o:p></o:p></span></h3> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" >Sylvia Plath</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" >I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;<o:p></o:p></span></p> <pre><span style="font-size:85%;">I lift my lids and all is born again.<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">(I think I made you up inside my head.)<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">And arbitrary blackness gallops in:<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">(I think I made you up inside my head.)<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">Exit seraphim and Satan's men:<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">I fancied you'd return the way you said,<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">But I grow old and I forget your name.<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">(I think I made you up inside my head.)<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">I should have loved a thunderbird instead;<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">At least when spring comes they roar back again.<o:p></o:p></span></pre><pre><span style="font-size:85%;">I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.<o:p></o:p></span></pre> <pre><span style="font-size:85%;">(I think I made you up inside my head.)<br /><br /><br /><br />Howth, Ireland<o:p></o:p></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3xcT3NZYcnNJcq9SUk0zCLnVC2E32kaySWlBpRUQ7KnZYx8HpzWRx_fat_pOdD0OvyXvNNCE9w2_brITKS65S6iksQnKZ7soeLZX_WSIvka6TH9YHXp9RDtGFqjQizIPi7Utrkw/s1600-h/Howth,+Ireland+028.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3xcT3NZYcnNJcq9SUk0zCLnVC2E32kaySWlBpRUQ7KnZYx8HpzWRx_fat_pOdD0OvyXvNNCE9w2_brITKS65S6iksQnKZ7soeLZX_WSIvka6TH9YHXp9RDtGFqjQizIPi7Utrkw/s200/Howth,+Ireland+028.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191987522647598098" border="0" /></a></pre>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-48228598650559889582008-04-15T15:54:00.000-07:002008-04-15T16:04:33.775-07:0030: Destorying the Life I Had Planned, As Joseph Campbell Insisted<p style="text-align: left;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">It seems strange that in a few weeks I'll be back in the United States.</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> I can't tell if </span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">it's because I think my time Not There</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> has gone so quickly, or so long. Part of it tie</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">s into spending four months ident</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">ifying, defending myself as an American, and now I face returning</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> to my ancestral home.</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> When in Barcelona, walking up to Park Guell, </span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">we passed what looked like a punk house. </span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyj-ejQyEDs3GFpXR4iSe02rvIah3zCjXmBrH-GxYPRwTzdyVT0hDBjMnP0gzs1nErlmRG1i_3Xr7yS82MwGuSgQcD1dxdhZqAgShfzI4halWdqdjAZnhY_zDlu3EaxFSgANmYNA/s1600-h/100_3654.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyj-ejQyEDs3GFpXR4iSe02rvIah3zCjXmBrH-GxYPRwTzdyVT0hDBjMnP0gzs1nErlmRG1i_3Xr7yS82MwGuSgQcD1dxdhZqAgShfzI4halWdqdjAZnhY_zDlu3EaxFSgANmYNA/s200/100_3654.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189609766488243106" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">Written on the roof was 'Why do they call it</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> tourist season if </span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">we can't shoot them?'. I was </span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">sympathetic; I remember the same</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> sentiment from living on the Shore, waiting and wanting for all the Bennys to leave so the stop signs could</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> be covered again and</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> the beaches empty. But then right after, was a bit of graffiti that said simply enough 'Yankees go home.'<br /></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">I was angry. I may be an American,</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> but I am no fucking Yanke</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">e. A Yankee is the kid in our group who went to Spain with a cowboy hat; a Yankee is someone who doesn't bother to learn the language (not</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> even a please, </span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">or a thank you); a Yankee wears socks with sandals.</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipF3GoNGUfKC1fKQn5YO3Tm7oDve9_QQMV0e8JUsbiGxhBoTnKTDKYnrKr7b5bnPombGo9WlGCG-QFSwUun0VweO-NaomtSU9VjC6JvMrUoosAiKjx69Ncf6azP1PU4Q85FfJ4Rg/s1600-h/100_3653.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipF3GoNGUfKC1fKQn5YO3Tm7oDve9_QQMV0e8JUsbiGxhBoTnKTDKYnrKr7b5bnPombGo9WlGCG-QFSwUun0VweO-NaomtSU9VjC6JvMrUoosAiKjx69Ncf6azP1PU4Q85FfJ4Rg/s200/100_3653.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189610380668566450" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"><br />And since then I've been rethinking</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> how I feel about being an American. Reading 'Into the Wild' only encouraged the questioning, and instilled a desire to road trip across</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> the Pacific Northwest, to boot. And now knowing that I am leaning towards relocating down to Virginia, Williamsburg no less, where I will face tourists, and Yankees and inevitably be North---</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> the meaning of American hasn't settled down much. </span></span></p><div style="font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">Still, it seems unusual that soon enough my hands will be close t</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">o my mother's hands, that I will be</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> able to have lunch with my father and coffee with my friends; that I will see Boston and New York and the</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> same old town I have lived in for much too long. I worry about slipping back into my old ways, and yet not being able to shed the worst habits I picked up here. </span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">I must resolve to hold onto the good things- the sense of freedom, and better baking especially- while returning to better habits- running, not eating at all hours simply because I am in the mood to cook- and holding onto</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> integrity. Such a little town, and I am half-afraid of it, convinced it is loaded with weights and claws, everything joined together in a grand attempt</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> to impose stasis. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;">I'm not really worried about the summer. It sucks that I haven't heard back from internships, but even if nothing turns up, I'm sure I'll find some sort</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> of gainful employment, be it Starbucks or doing some sort of transcribing. Things will come through; they always do.</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53zDRG_YA5Q0bqNAJRUwUa4esiLJooXHukZBh5FA3Nvz0VZISPShFLOT2_pRjd1rYkig_pY15K715q4_i2QzJiMSYryCH9NK-GcSzkAFrrHnk0zlvc9p-fUY5Px6jOvIkZQinCg/s1600-h/100_3587.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53zDRG_YA5Q0bqNAJRUwUa4esiLJooXHukZBh5FA3Nvz0VZISPShFLOT2_pRjd1rYkig_pY15K715q4_i2QzJiMSYryCH9NK-GcSzkAFrrHnk0zlvc9p-fUY5Px6jOvIkZQinCg/s200/100_3587.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189610591121963970" border="0" /></a></p><br /><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:times new roman;"><br /></p><p face="times new roman" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Music: Broken Social Scene 'Swimmers'</span><br /></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:11;"> </span></span></p>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-32950140503641770382008-04-14T15:20:00.000-07:002008-04-14T15:23:30.821-07:0029: there's nothing left upon which we depend'She worries over the way her love comes and goes, appears and disappears. She doubts its reality simply because it isn't as steadily pleasurable as a kitten. God knows, it <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> sad. the human voice conspires to desecrate everything on Earth.'<br /><br />"Raise High the Roof Beams, Carpenters"<br />J. D. SalingerCourtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-34179358405780679352008-04-13T07:58:00.000-07:002008-04-13T08:00:08.014-07:0028: Translucent<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana;" lang="EN-IE">I’ve been listening to podcasts lately teaching me rudimentary French. I’m not sure why this trip to </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana;" lang="EN-IE">Paris</span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana;" lang="EN-IE"> has brought on the urge to go with some language skills. Maybe it’s the perception that my background in English and German will not exactly win me friends in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana;" lang="EN-IE">France</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana;" lang="EN-IE">. Maybe it’s because I will be alone for at least part of the trip, and I hate appearing to be a tourist. Whatever it is, I’m preparing more now than I did for traveling to Eastern Europe, or even to </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana;" lang="EN-IE">Spain</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana;" lang="EN-IE">. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana;" lang="EN-IE"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana;" lang="EN-IE">I think part of it was that I took French, and I liked it, more or less. Granted, it was middle school, and not that difficult, and Stephen B. kept throwing our textbooks out the window and the teacher had no control over the class, but it wasn’t bad. I could never get the r right, but I managed to retain the ability to count to four and your basic manners- please, thank you, hello and goodbye, the toilets please?, very bad, tough shit. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana;" lang="EN-IE"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <pre><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Listening to these podcasts, it doesn’t seem to be sticking like it ought to, like I feel like it did for German (I’m pretty sure I’m glamorizing that). I keep mixing s’il vous </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">plaît</span><span style="font-family: Verdana;"> with prosim, and thank you with <span style="">köszönöm (like </span>kissidem), the few words I picked up in </span><st1:country-region><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Poland</span></st1:country-region><span style="font-family: Verdana;">, </span><st1:city><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Prague</span></st1:City><span style="font-family: Verdana;"> and </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Hungary</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-family: Verdana;">. </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Prague</span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-family: Verdana;"> makes sense- I liked the language, and I’d like to learn more of it. <b><o:p></o:p></b></span></pre> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana;" lang="EN-IE"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana;" lang="EN-IE">I wonder sometimes if we overfill our neurons. I have this vision in my head of nerves like diving boards, everything, all the information crowded on edges and then flipping from one to the next, springing on and on and then splashing down on our tongues and fingers and telling us what to do- making our muscles move. And then sometimes, the diving boards are full up, information crowding down to the backs, so nothing can get a decent jump going and instead it all just belly-flops into primordial mush and grey matter. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana;" lang="EN-IE"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana;" lang="EN-IE">I wonder if other people break their bodies down this way, into images and similes instead of accepting that each of my fingers has millions and billions of smaller parts too many to think about and that each piece is straining and pulling away from me, that I’m losing parts of myself everywhere and leaving myself behind on everyone and everything. That makes me think of crime scene TV and how if there was only a swab small enough, advanced enough to be able to collect those chunks, to remold them back into images of ourselves- two sides and translucent, newly born and shaking legs, ready to hear our advice and heed none of it, to start living and breaking apart again. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-16543526370206767872008-04-07T16:41:00.000-07:002008-04-07T17:24:56.678-07:0027: How Can a Man Like Me Remain in the Light?<span style="font-size:78%;"><br />I've been obsessing with the M. Ward song 'Chinese Translation' recently. I know bloggers everywhere are shaking their heads in horror- '</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >but th</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >at </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >song has been out for so long? How could you not have fallen in and out of love with it already? Don't you know that These United States are the new M. Ward? Don't you listen to WOXY?</span><span style="font-size:78%;">'.<br />Fuck that. I had it on the iPod, listened to it once or twice and was finally grabbed.<br /><br />Then again, I'm sitting here in zombie make up in the dark blogging. I really have no leg to stand on. At all.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZ2E82s3Y7BgQQyw2VhVCGpWpEce8VOOJHl9cGPKI_EzRx5gVkHRZmiCF0rZRh16aleEGltbuNBsz7gpLQID94ZdDRk5D-UF5C0xW6mV-YVoq4SaRos5C6MrjP-93LtQlJ77VIQ/s1600-h/Smithfield+Horse+Fair+013.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZ2E82s3Y7BgQQyw2VhVCGpWpEce8VOOJHl9cGPKI_EzRx5gVkHRZmiCF0rZRh16aleEGltbuNBsz7gpLQID94ZdDRk5D-UF5C0xW6mV-YVoq4SaRos5C6MrjP-93LtQlJ77VIQ/s200/Smithfield+Horse+Fair+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186658154002487202" border="0" /></a>I went to the Smithfield horse fair on Sunday. It was surreal and voyeuristic. Basically, it's a horse market held the first Sunday of every month in Smithfield, an industrial area of Dublin, right next to the Jameson factory. On this pavilion next to these new apartment buildings you have kids showing off the horses they keep in their back gardens and Pavee and horse traders, all showing off and selling and buying. And then you have people like me, stumbling around with their cameras a snapping and then going home and screwing around on Picasa and posting them on their blogs to tell other people to go and stumble around with their cameras and then post their pictures.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl7mQLExHBX-H4p2Vr1rVbXBb8P1x54xufuSyEYo5NLHzOMNClbmiKCEej-CYuM4TKV5-YuXNIzR5HOG7HT1jTYWuaYtgfSWHlahn3wzBdXZ8N2uIHE6iF1BgsybBFi482eYhXdw/s1600-h/Smithfield+Horse+Fair+010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl7mQLExHBX-H4p2Vr1rVbXBb8P1x54xufuSyEYo5NLHzOMNClbmiKCEej-CYuM4TKV5-YuXNIzR5HOG7HT1jTYWuaYtgfSWHlahn3wzBdXZ8N2uIHE6iF1BgsybBFi482eYhXdw/s200/Smithfield+Horse+Fair+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186658939981502386" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAcmWU4qzT8e1R6EyHcPQUekhfy2uu8V5iSXB2Fql1bZsn1UkKH1DgNR35D5kDC6f9UgH25tagrQbKxqdzJxsCHNRAtYVlA7s5ngqr21YiqLOs_2zh4LaXYx7GhRMuU1_ih-GGw/s1600-h/Smithfield+Horse+Fair+030.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAcmWU4qzT8e1R6EyHcPQUekhfy2uu8V5iSXB2Fql1bZsn1UkKH1DgNR35D5kDC6f9UgH25tagrQbKxqdzJxsCHNRAtYVlA7s5ngqr21YiqLOs_2zh4LaXYx7GhRMuU1_ih-GGw/s200/Smithfield+Horse+Fair+030.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186659244924180418" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMb8-3-TSpH-qAsoxQTlgaEm93_VR-DrgWyFsLqYrosPiX9hvy55Wh5ZS0z1gnrw1N4hisdoBhFHGiHPl0qDpfT_2tfqGHW12mvTKSuZ7G7b70x4v7ZMcuyh0mXx0XJc8BygzWcQ/s1600-h/Smithfield+Horse+Fair+039.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMb8-3-TSpH-qAsoxQTlgaEm93_VR-DrgWyFsLqYrosPiX9hvy55Wh5ZS0z1gnrw1N4hisdoBhFHGiHPl0qDpfT_2tfqGHW12mvTKSuZ7G7b70x4v7ZMcuyh0mXx0XJc8BygzWcQ/s200/Smithfield+Horse+Fair+039.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186659511212152786" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG69_UeuggnCx28DftQOk6EFziPHS4w4LSQcOyt65vPc0MSjuoOHYrmtsZPwsGqsfpvaxWZjfSsP7r39XWEonicpFq7pzrRXywvH5ghSxqhh9NU4VjTcCBABYl0SH7Bsdlmaqdvg/s1600-h/Smithfield+Horse+Fair+012.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG69_UeuggnCx28DftQOk6EFziPHS4w4LSQcOyt65vPc0MSjuoOHYrmtsZPwsGqsfpvaxWZjfSsP7r39XWEonicpFq7pzrRXywvH5ghSxqhh9NU4VjTcCBABYl0SH7Bsdlmaqdvg/s200/Smithfield+Horse+Fair+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186659824744765410" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsSMctDYQQqhDAsOc4TS3s-GiP1j7D2VwEQspI4FfZaj1XKF25QrZbZMRQ_2nLoYNGLnSw0LwDY5-7U15IxY_3fLdBx7982bVzyNj6hbit52ICpC-y_AvrZLXCy0bLnnZc73gHg/s1600-h/Smithfield+Horse+Fair+044.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsSMctDYQQqhDAsOc4TS3s-GiP1j7D2VwEQspI4FfZaj1XKF25QrZbZMRQ_2nLoYNGLnSw0LwDY5-7U15IxY_3fLdBx7982bVzyNj6hbit52ICpC-y_AvrZLXCy0bLnnZc73gHg/s200/Smithfield+Horse+Fair+044.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186660391680448498" border="0" /></a>Right after snapping this last one, I made eye contact with the boy. It was one thing to take a photo of those eyes on someone else taking a photograph of him, and another to have them turned on you. It's my fault for making eye contact with too many people, trying to see into too much. All I could do was make apologetic eyes and put away my camera.<br /><br /></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Implicit Associations<br /><span style="font-size:78%;">I read <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/06/opinion/06kristof.html?em&ex=1207713600&en=cee1db633094044e&ei=5087%0A">this</a> in the NY Times today. Immediately I went and took the <a href="http://backhand.uchicago.edu/Center/ShooterEffect/">University of Chicago test</a> mentioned. What frustrated me was that for the first 30 odd images or so, I mixed up the Z and / functions, so I was shooting when I meant to holster. Plus I started over-thinking towards the end and figured out the pattern with the background imagery. Then I started debating my own narcissism while trying to test my racism and probably confused the hell out of my neurons and latent impulses. No wonder my average score was a .615 for an armed black man vs. .665 for an armed white man. I wish the test explained at the end what the averages was, so I could compare myself to the rest of the US/worldish intelligencia out there who saw a test for racism and went 'I'll test that!'. Judging by the results of Mr. Kristoff, I'm not alone in hesitating in shooting white men and holstering for black men.<br /><br />Nice to know that the researchers interviewed tend to feel that gender is more of a discriminatory factor than race. I am clearly set as a white, American, bleeding-heart, Christian- socialist woman. So set for the nonprofit sector it's not even funny. I'm just like Madonna!<br /></span><br /></span>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-30238150743941151942008-04-04T03:49:00.000-07:002008-04-04T04:10:42.872-07:0026: Learning Languages and Stages<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibPrkcZHhXKlR4NzObLhzokiaSv70oZe9hyphenhyphenEpz6b_wq6OBIje28AytPjOnlVur8a0SjCECr7HcP9qNYP4qTPF4FBsu-wU2AgmW3ZZCKk7D9bQybg9L5qSSKBehomu2D6kbimyXWg/s1600-h/100_3873.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibPrkcZHhXKlR4NzObLhzokiaSv70oZe9hyphenhyphenEpz6b_wq6OBIje28AytPjOnlVur8a0SjCECr7HcP9qNYP4qTPF4FBsu-wU2AgmW3ZZCKk7D9bQybg9L5qSSKBehomu2D6kbimyXWg/s200/100_3873.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185342742958675826" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />iTunes has free language podcasts?! Why has no one told me about this? There is one devoted to <span style="font-weight: bold;">GERMAN GRAMMAR</span>. I could have made a world of a better impression on countless (ok, 4) German professors with that information.<br /><br />I think that might be the future of my education. I took the bit step today and canceled my tourfilterBoston account, and opened up a tourfilterNYC. I think I'm leaning towards taking the fall off and working up money, and by leaning towards that, I mean I'm anywhere near financially stable and will have to.<br /><br />I'm fine with it. I've gotten sick of higher education- the sheer bureaucracy of all of it. Maybe I came into university with too high expectations, imagining some place where suddenly all the quirks of my mind and my tangential interests would find a place to be nurtured and encouraged, and getting required maths and program lines just failed to compare.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Rnf6JKODwfEdioAh3dCtz5IDBfBDd_OesuEz_1AmKDwDKtWdPyMgB6svE7U-hEbKbkjeG1YrmaXUd1GyhPxRsWV8JIUv3g99Viaakgg9Q1MpHkEqMKxT-jfqNb2Iij1vsXYWKw/s1600-h/100_3899.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Rnf6JKODwfEdioAh3dCtz5IDBfBDd_OesuEz_1AmKDwDKtWdPyMgB6svE7U-hEbKbkjeG1YrmaXUd1GyhPxRsWV8JIUv3g99Viaakgg9Q1MpHkEqMKxT-jfqNb2Iij1vsXYWKw/s200/100_3899.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185342291987109714" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I suppose I can chalk it up to growing up. While it's not quite " 'One day you will do things for me you will not want to do. That is called being a family.' What she does not understand is that I already do things for her I do not want to do. I listen to her when she talks to me. I resist complaining about my pygmy allowance. And did I mention I do not spleen her nearly so much as I desire to? But I do not do those things because we are a family. I do them because they are common decencies. That is an idiom the hero taught me. I do them because I am not a big fucking asshole. That is another idiom the hero taught me." (if I got the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Everything_Is_Illuminated">quote</a> wrong, sorry. It was all memory). And it's not quite the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kenneth_Patchen">old guy</a> putting down his beer and saying, "son. I am going to tell you something the like of which has never been told" either.<br /><br />What it is getting a better feel for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grace_%28album%29">Grace</a>, and grace. Understanding <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Titanic_%281997_film%29">Rose</a> better. It's not freedom. It's nothing like freedom, or even security. It's just sort of an understanding, and it only sounds trite when I explain it.<br /><br /><br /><br />Budapest photos.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHU7Mlr4lxpEZvgLDMTm6noUHTRY48_B1mLZg7YuweL8FyvskAxbkTaMflR2XANzhiFnhakCB4V4tqkbTOx0NaCcO2HvPmxJc5r-9zAMRfuritZhx6hRBp2YQ9ROgksQH9DQgxOw/s1600-h/100_3900.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHU7Mlr4lxpEZvgLDMTm6noUHTRY48_B1mLZg7YuweL8FyvskAxbkTaMflR2XANzhiFnhakCB4V4tqkbTOx0NaCcO2HvPmxJc5r-9zAMRfuritZhx6hRBp2YQ9ROgksQH9DQgxOw/s200/100_3900.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185345809565325186" border="0" /></a>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-73688186397836351562008-03-31T15:46:00.000-07:002008-03-31T15:51:58.168-07:0025: Ages and AgesIt's been forever since I updated this, and for those of you who read it (erm... no one?) sorry. I will say that yesterday was Daylight Savings in Ireland and I celebrated jumping forward an hour by oversleeping an hour today. Somehow, I still made it to work on time. I think it's a combination of me booking it down O'Connell/Grafton and the fact that the buses worked in my favor. You see, rush hour lasts from 7 am to 10 am, which means that the bus you get on at 9 will either get you from DCU to downtown in T minus 20 minutes, or be an agonizing 45 minutes of hell where you watch yourself run later and later.<br />Inevitably, someone will be playing music on their cellphone.<br /><br />This does not mean they will be listening to music on their cellphone. Oh no! This means they will be using their cellphone a la "Say Anything", blasting out shitty music on their shitty cellphone speakers because let's face it, who doesn't want to listen to the same tinny pop music songs over and over?<br /><br />Not to say I'm bitter. I actually kind of like my commute. It's just enough time for an episode of 'This American Life' or 'Studio 360', or to get in a full album or sometimes a playlist. I'm revisiting some old sonic friends.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-90249983425290168452008-02-20T09:49:00.001-08:002008-02-20T10:12:49.056-08:0024: Belfast, Northern Ireland<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZeRHp8oViqNPvTtfBl9FubA2ANEZefhSYkDZEPAtnV7LrbyK0C2SfvykP8WeHLudS5fp6YtUuGV-f-p86IfDuXZha2BvYLHDRTx3xzXanPdiuIUA04w2UlRBiqKf4ENV6RmK6Qw/s1600-h/Barcelona,+Belfast+019.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 297px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZeRHp8oViqNPvTtfBl9FubA2ANEZefhSYkDZEPAtnV7LrbyK0C2SfvykP8WeHLudS5fp6YtUuGV-f-p86IfDuXZha2BvYLHDRTx3xzXanPdiuIUA04w2UlRBiqKf4ENV6RmK6Qw/s400/Barcelona,+Belfast+019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169126480519700018" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />I am now catching up furiously on blog posts, to prove that I don't just photos to Facebook and that I can procrastinate effectively. Look out! All the trees of the field will clap their hands and dance in joy. By that, I mean I'm listening to the Zombies, and not dorking out. At all.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Belfast<br />February 1, 2008<br /><br /></span>For some random reason, I had a line of poetry stuck in my head the whole trip: "this is a good country/there is no war here". I'm pretty sure it's Kenneth Patchen, but I can't detail any more of the poem, or even think of what i<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl5DYlsSK-N4a7RucqCxBkoMSDIObgLxKu1BWaCpEk3tVLk0H9bMCJQmPMzGj-w2l1dAWM75wv-TwhMx2Z-XCffGo6GFmqGnN9VhJIQf_klOLK2X277AV-8-jFjmQ-ZVEZeN0PcQ/s1600-h/Barcelona,+Belfast+039.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 199px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl5DYlsSK-N4a7RucqCxBkoMSDIObgLxKu1BWaCpEk3tVLk0H9bMCJQmPMzGj-w2l1dAWM75wv-TwhMx2Z-XCffGo6GFmqGnN9VhJIQf_klOLK2X277AV-8-jFjmQ-ZVEZeN0PcQ/s200/Barcelona,+Belfast+039.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169125655885979154" border="0" /></a>t could be from. It was a thoroughly appropriate quote to have ringing between my ears through the day, because I am from a good country, and there is no war there. There is no war in the way there was a war in Belfast, or in Derry.<br /><br />College students complain that no one takes us seriously, recognizes our committment to the democratic process or the world around us, but I don't know. Seeing the bullet holes, the flags, the murals, there's something that the kids of Belfast have experience, the boys and girls of Berlin, of Croatia, that as an American, I can't fully understand. It's a different sort of relevance.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWUgA0y9VEOWmrTwAT6p8x47cr1k-4fCwlA4XuBXpeQxolv1SYjpZXBCDg6jhZxAllwWa7omdLR7MAXo1mlttvqDDvJGeYxhVNzhbPAtH9I0tNWNyoFDmnS44iu_xQhDMxA0mLOA/s1600-h/Barcelona,+Belfast+021.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWUgA0y9VEOWmrTwAT6p8x47cr1k-4fCwlA4XuBXpeQxolv1SYjpZXBCDg6jhZxAllwWa7omdLR7MAXo1mlttvqDDvJGeYxhVNzhbPAtH9I0tNWNyoFDmnS44iu_xQhDMxA0mLOA/s320/Barcelona,+Belfast+021.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169125999483362850" border="0" /></a><br />True, in our current state, three or four dead on a weekend barely make the news. But we are so much bigger, and so less personal, and they are not dying in our streets and pubs, not the way they did there.<br /><br />It's amazing, because I didn't really expect to see as many murals as we did. But it's true that once you drive down a Loyalist or a Republican sector, and you're suddenly hit with a thousand tiny (or in the case of murals, HUGE) reminders of who exactly you're not.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8P-LewGpGmYZ4FFfrD16iMLdTHrooj67sT1FCCyMEUJ1j2y-c1xzaFs1TGNbtCyafVsM8SYJN3dtLKX2qVG5gNAXFyq5Qc02rs_MbD8BF_2zrzVjwC88fym0Dr-7_Fv-JVs8klA/s1600-h/Barcelona,+Belfast+032.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 237px; height: 173px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8P-LewGpGmYZ4FFfrD16iMLdTHrooj67sT1FCCyMEUJ1j2y-c1xzaFs1TGNbtCyafVsM8SYJN3dtLKX2qVG5gNAXFyq5Qc02rs_MbD8BF_2zrzVjwC88fym0Dr-7_Fv-JVs8klA/s200/Barcelona,+Belfast+032.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169126708152966722" border="0" /></a>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-73539366780751594202008-02-08T01:15:00.000-08:002008-02-08T01:26:21.253-08:0023: Inflammatory RemarksI am 98% sure I have conjunctivitis again (the remained 2% is for the doctor to describe). Conjunctivitis is commonly known as 'pink eye', unless you get what I get, in which case it's called 'that thing that makes optometrists shake, your eyes go bright red like you're out of <a href="http://www.smh.com.au/ffxImage/urlpicture_id_1058853069300_2003/07/22/28dayslater,0.jpg">28 Days Later</a>, and you have to put steroids in your eyes'. Last time this happened, I was traveling Europe. Maybe there's a pattern. At least this time, I'm in a country where I kind of understand the people, and I don't have any bus trips from Prague to Budapest in which I sit there and pray the air conditioning breaks because the constant shush-shush stream of air on my eyes is pure hell.<br /><br />Awesome.<br /><br />In other bodily news, I think it's time for me to cut more animal products out of my diet. Since being in Ireland, I've gone back to eating eggs, and I've been eating a lot of cheese. Body= not happy. It's funny, because this strikes me as similar to when I gave up red meat, and after a few months my body couldn't take chicken. I'm not sure how easy/hard this will be, because right now the only alternate protein I've found reasonably priced is tofu, and dried beans. Dried beans are just not the same, and I love beans. I wish I could get nuts reasonably priced somewhere, to just have to throw into things.<br /><br />At the very least, eggs have got to go (which is a slight shame since I've gotten pretty good at doing that whole fold thing when cooking eggs. FYI- if adding cheese to your eggs, try throwing in a few walnuts, with some thyme and a dash of pepper. It's good). I haven't drunk milk while I'm here, and I don't intend to start. I did get coconut milk though, from the Indian Grocery where I have become the token white girl (who buys a lot of bread), so I look forward to playing around with that.<br /><br />Continuing the cooking story, last night I made (vegan) latkas (well, potato and carrot and onion silver dollar sized pancakes). It was a grease fest, but they're good. If cooking for me wasn't "well I'll throw a little of that in, and handful- ok, bigger handful- of that, and how about some paprika? Yeah.... let's add lots of paprika!", I'd totally put down the recipe.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-1720144777009396852008-02-04T05:41:00.000-08:002008-02-17T05:39:56.690-08:00Oft Updated, Oft Altered<span style="font-weight: bold;">Things To Note About Ireland:</span><br /><br /><ul><li>'th' does not exist here. There is only 't'. Occasionally there is a separate 'h', but it is actually several letters-- 'haych'.</li><li>Cabs from Temple Bar cost more-- walk out of Temple Bar before getting one. In fact, don't go to Temple Bar if you don't want to pay more for everything-- good for a walk through, not good for a pub crawl.<br /></li><li>Just because the police ('Garda') don't carry guns doesn't mean they won't beat the shit out of you, or use horses.</li><li>Irish men use the term 'woman' a lot. It's not (usually) insulting.</li><li>One of my favorite things about Ireland is the use of the phrase "you're (very) welcome", or "you're (very) welcome here". <br /></li><li>Don't expect maps to be drawn to scale. For the most part, they're not. Ireland's kind of small (roughly the same population as South Carolina, for those of you playing along at home).</li><li>Palm trees are everywhere. Try not to act surprised-- people bring them home from their trips to Spain or Portugal. If you try to point out that most places with palm trees (Miami, California, Jamacia, Spain, Portugal) all have something in common that Ireland doesn't so much have (sun, warmth), especially considering the fact that Dublin is roughly the same longitude as Moscow (!), the Irish will look at you a bit confused and say something to the tune of "yeah? So?". I assume it's the trade off for the lack of poison ivy. </li><li>Tipping is pretty much on a case by case basis. With cabbies, round up. With waitresses, stick with 10- 20% unless it's already been taken into account. With bar tenders, your discretion.<br /></li><li>Farmers Markets are the way to go for produce- look off of Henry Street, or the Temple Bar Market (Saturday, Wednesday from 11-5) (has organic), or take a trip to Howth (Sundays, also with organic stands). For tofu and such, look to Indian/Middle Eastern shops.<br /></li></ul>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-51130819156382579332008-02-01T14:30:00.001-08:002008-02-08T01:38:37.945-08:0022: Barcelona, Spain<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9iBLAl_QgFVxquYn2tCzvEWQYzNc5MvJSeCduXQ5UJCcJKuHUfDO9KYXdvNeVBEdfhOn2Z9zvqpSuSAVAqPyfA7fm2dLfm9Y6WjmmzBa_0FGRJBGWlKhVDrCplNaHR-wBZMXeyQ/s1600-h/Barcelona,+Belfast+005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9iBLAl_QgFVxquYn2tCzvEWQYzNc5MvJSeCduXQ5UJCcJKuHUfDO9KYXdvNeVBEdfhOn2Z9zvqpSuSAVAqPyfA7fm2dLfm9Y6WjmmzBa_0FGRJBGWlKhVDrCplNaHR-wBZMXeyQ/s200/Barcelona,+Belfast+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164540851584125106" border="0" /></a><br />When you ignore the fact that I initially set up this blog to you know, blog, as I entered and was physically in each country, it's not that bad that I'm writing about <span style="font-weight: bold;">Barcelona</span> a scant week after leaving. This time last Friday I was getting off a Ryanair jet on the tarmac of Girona airport. It was dark, and windy, and sort of strange to be walking outside when I'm supposed to flying being an inside affair- watching the planes fly over the car, watching the planes from the waiting lounges, walking through the snake thing that has a name that I can't think of but it's always impossibly long, and finally sitting inside the plane and praying you have an open seat next to you. I associate the outside with being bad, involving explosions and the movie "Alive" when the guy sitting in the very front snaps his neck and the back of the plane gets sucked out. There were a lot of random movies on TV back in my day.<br /><br />In short- I would have loved to have stayed longer in Barcelona. It was absolutely gorgeous, and amazing to be someplace where I wasn't wearing a damp coat, or waiting for sunshine. However, in the 36-odd hours I was there, I saw a good bit. Park Guell, Sagrada Familia, and the soccer game we wandered into were the definite highlights. I've realized I'm the sort of traveler who enjoys just taking it easy and wandering. I'd rather rely on my sense of <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrS2Nd9BQ7fVuWfvucat3LhNq2nCGO-GXz8XN7ZpPAuuXw9QxPbdHkViLr0vlB2J29zU1u-4PN3CkSMFvAtadatlLE0K3s_pWPjgqhrdRzyEqhyBBtfGUyls0kZsOpnxkBZLgHCg/s1600-h/Barcelona,+Belfast+016.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrS2Nd9BQ7fVuWfvucat3LhNq2nCGO-GXz8XN7ZpPAuuXw9QxPbdHkViLr0vlB2J29zU1u-4PN3CkSMFvAtadatlLE0K3s_pWPjgqhrdRzyEqhyBBtfGUyls0kZsOpnxkBZLgHCg/s200/Barcelona,+Belfast+016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162171627364567202" border="0" /></a>direction and metro maps than set itineraries and a list of notable sites.<br /><br />Not to be misunderstood, I loved the Gothic Quarter and Las Ramblas was nice enough. I'd just rather see people interacting with their environment, than watch tourists gawk with me. If I want tourists, I can find them easily enough.<br /><br />{Edit, with real (er) info}<br /><br />I'm probably the wrong person to be keeping a pseudo-travel blog, because I don't really travel<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfI9A4PqcDniMKVGCtiUSEBiQVo4qrDIXMZgWKncX5aHGvqFmfYitC0FQPhPDZigSNoenPs3fVfDVKlvJ1IZwlyyfAvJfk8euP5Zlsnk8vm0XmnXGnS76Xrf96mYT0WxG14p3-Fw/s1600-h/Barcelona,+Belfast+009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfI9A4PqcDniMKVGCtiUSEBiQVo4qrDIXMZgWKncX5aHGvqFmfYitC0FQPhPDZigSNoenPs3fVfDVKlvJ1IZwlyyfAvJfk8euP5Zlsnk8vm0XmnXGnS76Xrf96mYT0WxG14p3-Fw/s200/Barcelona,+Belfast+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164541049152620738" border="0" /></a> in that way. I summed up that up last time, but I thought I'd come back and talk about what I did love.<br />-watching kids playing soccer on this dusty field<br />-these old men who'd hobble through the parks with their wives, while kids were playing ping-pong with their fathers<br />-the architecture<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31h4z8c9oJp96N4ZHE0IrXuRXMTx1TgMH8jZUXhUKg0zoTmlgvSbZmQ2hLi5VCdylrVlhpJFrOeAyxmwMdkjuDbEKqjek1FPZh80HNuc3mvdYNNPo81yyvhand6iMaYV02dqDHw/s1600-h/Barcelona,+Belfast+013.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31h4z8c9oJp96N4ZHE0IrXuRXMTx1TgMH8jZUXhUKg0zoTmlgvSbZmQ2hLi5VCdylrVlhpJFrOeAyxmwMdkjuDbEKqjek1FPZh80HNuc3mvdYNNPo81yyvhand6iMaYV02dqDHw/s200/Barcelona,+Belfast+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164541328325494994" border="0" /></a>- the kids playing in the dirt on that part of Park Guell, where you can look out and see Barcelona and the sea. That part was really lovelyCourtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-64065084019900490142008-01-20T14:56:00.000-08:002008-01-20T15:26:53.244-08:0021: Fast Asleep, Under an OceanI saw the film <a href="http://imdb.com/title/tt0467406/">Juno</a> twice over winter break, within 3 days of the viewings. One of the lines that stuck out most (and you may have seen it in a trailer or teaser) is after Juno confesses her pregnancy to her parents, and her father states<br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">"I always thought you were the kind of girl who knew when to say when."</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> She responds, "I don't know what kind of girl I am."</span><br />(paraphrased by memory)<br /><br /><br />For whatever reason, I'm reassessing the sort of girl I am. Not just the 4 years of sobriety that was high school, and the years of not sleeping and anxiety attacks that was everything up to college, but just about everything. Future career. What sort of girl I am. I guess it makes sense that it's all happening now, what with the foreign country, and wading into the real world, but still... I'm enjoying it enough, and the state of flux is enjoyable once I learn better to run with it. This by that will fall into place- internships, my future collegiate experience, where i'm spending the next few years of life, and so on. There's not much more I can do but sit and experience and try not to drink too much.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-7987834836585493012008-01-15T14:20:00.000-08:002008-01-28T05:08:57.436-08:0020: All My Friends, Tonight<span style="font-size:85%;">I'm in Dublin. I'm alive, and well. Tonight is the first since Saturday that I haven't had something to drink. I'm hoping the continues to happen, because much as I enjoy having a good time, it's nice sometimes to spend the day sober and go to bed. I'm planning on going out tomorrow though to Crawdaddy, home of ANTICS. Basically.... life looks pretty good for tomorrow night. Even if I have, you know, class. Thursday. Tomorrow.<br /><br />I need to return to running. I miss it, badly.<br /><br />I wrote a poem yesterday, and I'm working on one today, but I can't think of how to end it.<br /></span>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-39929890137176811792007-12-29T10:08:00.000-08:002007-12-29T10:27:09.135-08:0019: Reapplication<span style="font-size:85%;">Applying to colleges still suck.<br /><br />Writing essays. SAT scores (seriously? I don't remember what I got, let alone my College Board password).<br /><br />I just want the process over, and move on. Then I can start thinking about where I'm living, how I'm living, and what's going on.<br /><br /><br /></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-style: italic;">“We must be willing to get rid of the life we planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us”</span><o:p style="font-style: italic;"></o:p><br /><span style="">~~ </span>Joseph Campbell<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-34887020549827381482007-12-27T07:47:00.000-08:002007-12-27T08:03:17.975-08:0018: Youth in Revolt<a href="http://the-slipstream.blogspot.com/">Rachel</a> is in the midst of writing out her life in terms of music, song by song explaining the top 50 most significant songs in her life. I liked the idea, but went a slightly different path. Which is now before you.<br /><br /><u>Formative Years</u><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Miles Davis- Time After Time<br />John (Cougar) Mellencamp- Pink Houses<br />Bob Marley- Redemption Song<br />Dan Fogelberg- Same Auld Lang Syne<br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGlva74kGmc&feature=related">Mott the Hopple</a>- All the Young Dudes<br /></div><br />This is music I grew up on. A lot of it I associate with driving, which makes sense since I spent most of my childhood in cars. Usually I was sleeping, or reading, or counting off the breaks in the lines in the road by clicking my tongue to keep the car from flipping over (which only repeating much later led me to realize that that wasn’t typical behavior of a seven year old), but music was always playing. My father favors jazz (Miles Davis) and classic rock; my mom likes singer-songwriters and soft rock types (Dan Fogelberg). Supposedly I know all the words to Collective Soul at one point, and as I grow and embrace more of my parents’ records, it’s weird to realize how much of the music I already know.<br /><br /><a href="http://www2.mellencamp.com/">John Mellencamp</a> was probably the first musician I remember actively moving to listen to. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nlk9Sj4Ns2k">Bob Marley</a>’s “Legend” is the first album I actually went out and purchased (meaning I had my parents buy it for me). And somehow I still haven’t smoked pot. Weird (yet awesome, if you are somehow my mother or father and reading this. I make no promises for the rest of my college years though).<br /><br />I never really got into the grooves of my peers. I missed (and still do to the most part) pop. Sure, I was into Savage Garden, but in my defense, they played their instruments. And wrote dirty songs. And are Australian. So that’s got to put me above the BSB and N*SYNC fans somehow (I choose to deny the existence of LFO and c/o). I remember when I was at VMES in Brick (this must have been third grade or so) being asked by a semi- popular girl (I won’t ever try to give her a name) when type of music I listened to. I answered honestly, and I noted the look of both disdain and confusion crossing her fresh face when I ended with R.E.M. I realized that day that I both didn’t know how to recognize those hit or miss questions, and I probably wasn’t ever going to be popular. From this, I headed into the awkward years.<br /><br /><br /><u>Awkward, Angst, In Between Years</u><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Barely Breathing- Duncan Sheik<br />Anarchy in the U.K- <a href="http://www.sex-pistols.net/">Sex Pistols</a><br />The Time Warp- <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rocky_Horror_Picture_Show">Rocky Horror Picture Show</a><br /></div><br />By the time I was 11, I had the chest of a fifteen year old girl, and the precocious reading habits of a seventeen year old aspiring Patti Smith. I read Jim Carroll and books about horses and abusive families. I wanted to move to New York, develop a heroin addiction, venereal diseases, and die of scurvy and hunger. I also wanted it to be 1975. To complement my reading, I listened to the Sex Pistols, the NY Dolls, the Velvet Underground and cheap punk compilation discs. It was pretty bad. If I had less dignity, I would post some of the poetry. Instead, a choice line: “I smell blood and think it's you/ The way you smell like water sometimes/<br />And I just want a drink but/You say you're happy- tell the truth/It's ok to hate me, you know I do/Now that we're gone forever".<br /><br />Yeah. I know.<br /><br />Duncan Sheik is in there because these were the years of driving between Middlesex and Ocean Counties, between my parents’ houses. My father lived in a series of small apartments, most significant being a house in Normandy Beach. I’m not sure why, but I’ll always consider that home, and especially our winter there, as home (in addition to the town where I went to high school). Something about walking on the beach that winter had always stayed with me, and the intense feeling of possession that I have with that small strip of main drag that lay between us and the beach a mile away. It was transient in every form (we were renting from summer people, and their furniture and markings lay everywhere, from toys to the crappy pseudo abstract prints on the wall), but I loved it. It was home for some inexplicable reason. <a href="http://www.myspace.com/duncansheik">Duncan Sheik</a>’s “Barely Breathing” reminds me of all that time driving, and my father’s life between the divorce and his move back up to the town we were born in, and had moved back to with our mother.<br /><br /><u>Moving Up, On</u><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">The Weakerthans- Aside<br />Belle & Sebastian- the Boy with the Arab Strap<br />Damien Rice- Blower’s Daughter<br />Jeff Buckley (covering Nusrat)- Yeh Jo Halka Halka Saroor Hai<br />Radiohead- High and Dry<br /></div><br />This was my moving towards more indy rock and singer songwriter types. This was also my development into more of the writer I am today, beginning with the end of writing about whores and drug abuse, and all those other things I thought were glamorous and tragic that I hadn’t experienced outside of media.<br /><br />“Aside” is the first song I fell in love with, hard core fell in love with. I listened to it on repeat for an hour after coming across it on a sampler. For the first song, a song had the anxiety and sheer word play that I saw in myself. It was amazing, and <a href="http://www.myspace.com/theweakerthans">the Weakerthans</a> have yet to disappoint me. I cycle through them, going weeks and months without thinking of one of their albums, then falling head over heels in love again. As I listen to this song now, I feel like it’s matured with me, and where I first saw the reflection of my inability to fit into some sort of middle school clique, I now see the true pangs of adulthood. Besides, who isn’t doesn’t rely a bit too heavily on alcohol and irony?<br /><br />I included <a href="http://www.myspace.com/damienrice">Damien Rice</a> here even though he comes a little later on. I got into him the summer of my junior year, right before “Volcano” made it big(ish). While writing at the NJ Govenor School for the Arts, a friend of mine bought it, and I burned it onto my computer. I wrote to this album, and Belle & Sebastian’s “Boy with the Arab Strap” (album), and for the first time felt like I truly belonged somewhere. I was surrounded by neurotic, artistic and sarcastic sixteen/seventeen year olds who got me. While I see both albums as bordering on morose, I spent that summer fucking buoyant.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.myspace.com/jeffbuckley">Jeff Bukley</a>’s “Live At Sin-e” is probably the best live album I’ve heard yet. It’s him at his least restrained, and while that can get sort of old (10 minute version of “If You See Her, Say Hello”? Seriously?), his version of this Nusrat classic is amazing. I fell in love with the point 4:37 minutes in where his voice hits the note that made my skin shake. I point to it as an example of a perfect moment in music.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.radiohead.com/deadairspace/">Radiohead</a> was influential in getting me out of the angst phase, and into the introspective. This song will always remind me of my high school English teacher who loved, absolutely loved this song, and wanted me to record myself singing it for him. I’m not sure why. I think he used it as a measure of a person. It’s a beautiful song, the kind that makes you cry at night when you listen to it through headphones.<br /><br /><br /><u>End of High School</u><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Death Cab for Cutie- the New Year<br />Bright Eyes- the Calendar Hung Itself<br />The Arcade Fire- Wake Up<br /></div><br />Mentally, I was done with high school by junior year. I spent senior year trying not to have a breakdown and writing, writing, writing. These songs got me through, kept me strong. <a href="http://www.myspace.com/deathcabforcutie">Death Cab for Cutie</a>’s concert at the Siren Music Festival on Coney Island is the first concert I really went to (the official first was a radio festival I went to with my dad and sister. Notable acts were Even and Jaron, Jessica Simpson, the A Teens, and Jay Z. Holla). I remember being squished by hundreds (thousands?) of people in this dead end smack against the board walk. I spent the encore on the side of the stage, mostly watching the drummer fucking kill his drum kit on ‘Transatlanticism’.<br /><br />I heard <a href="http://www.myspace.com/brighteyes">Bright Eyes</a> through Kevin, when he brought a mix into Writer’s Workshop his turn one Friday, along with Rufus Wainwright’s ‘Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk’. I fell for the sheer urgency and need in the song; I’m always going to have a thing for the skinny, slightly breaking down guys.<br /><br />The<span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span> <a href="http://www.blogotheque.net/article.php3?id_article=2868">Arcade Fire</a> was through a birthday mix made for me by Suge. I spent my college visit up to Boston listening to this song over and over again. This whole album (Funeral) remains a strong, strong album in my book that can be listened to with headphones or speakers. ‘Neon Bible’ was decent, but it’s hard to match an album that can mesh an apocalyptic aura, coming of age, and literary style with such grace and power.<br /><br /><u>Waiting</u><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Van Morrison- Sweet Thing<br />Jackson Browne- Late for the Sky<br />Willy Mason- Fear No Pain<br /></div><br />The summer before college I started listening to the albums of my parents’ youth/the albums I grew up on- Cat Stevens, Jackson Browne, Van Morrison. I’d walk to work listening to one song, or one album on repeat, and read “the Fountainhead” (not a recommendation) in between answering the phone at the law office. <a href="http://jacksonbrowne.com/">Jackson Browne</a> has special significance because the ‘Late for the Sky’ album was the album my mom listened to her senior year of high school, the album that helped get her through the death of two classmates by car accident.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.vanmorrison.co.uk/">Van Morrison</a> will always be the top of the pile for me. He’s a Deserted Island keeper, has the albums I’ll play my kids and at my wedding. This spot could have been easily filled by “And it Stoned Me”. There are a few songs I always imagine played a cappella, and that song is one of them- it’s shamelessly beautiful, and I want it played at my funeral and wedding (hopefully those are not the same event. Imagine THAT as some sort of short story. I call that idea). ‘Sweet Thing’ is another song that has the moment that I rewind to, and replay over and over. It’s at 1:38, when he sings ‘I shall drive my chariot down your streets a’ crying: “it’s me, I’m dynamite, and I don’t know why”’. Every time I hear this song I marvel at the simplistic beauty of the lyrics; it’s one of my favorite poems.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.willy-mason.com/">Willy Mason</a>’s “Fear No Pain” helped get my through the anxiety of going away to college. It seemed sort of perfect that he played at BU a few months later, and for the record, he’s a super sweet, literate man. I consider that show the first real marker of my friendship with Rachel and Allie, and the beginning on moments shared with bands/musicians (tea biscuits with Elvis Perkins? Yes, please). I’ve been returning to this song lately, as I go through the process of transferring schools and reconsidering my future and what I consider essential to face adulthood and all the scary shit I don’t really want to consider as being my life (taxes, water bills, real jobs that don’t let me take naps during the day).<br /><br /><u>College, and Beyond</u><br /><a href="http://www.belleandsebastian.com/"><br /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.belleandsebastian.com/">Belle & Sebastian</a>- Like Dylan in the Movies<br /><a href="http://www.sonicyouth.com/">Sonic Youth</a>- Incinerate<br />Songs: Ohia- Leave the City<br />Menomena- Muscle N’ Flow<br />Okkervil River- Our Life is Not a Movie or Maybe<br />LCD Soundsystem- All My Friends<br /></div><br />The first two numbers are the summation of my freshman year, summed up in the wild night of forgoing class to go to a house party (I suppose you could call it that) with a band, with Rachel. It was the breaking of an OCD, paranoid high school shell, and the beginning of the realization that I have the capability to relax, and to embrace life. I feel like that moment directly influenced my decision to travel around Europe, partly alone last summer. It was a necessary catharsis disguised as a sing-a-long.<br /><br />The last four are songs that have wormed their way into my brain at this moment. <a href="http://www.magnoliaelectricco.com/">Songs: Ohia</a> started appearing more on my radar last year, and this song stuck on out as delicate, beautiful and now summing up perfectly my status: leaving Boston (probably), firmly leaving the teenage years. This song also sums up my impression of the bulk of my childhood- ‘half my life spent on the highways/ half my life I didn’t choose’.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.menomena.com/">Menomena</a> was the soundtrack of my summer, and continues to stick with me, with this song being chief among its staying power. It’s exuberant, intelligent and catchy. It’s a manifesto, and a battle song. It (along with ‘<a href="http://www.myspace.com/okkervilriver">Our Life is Not a Movie or Maybe</a>’) was also one of the official songs of Room 315, which gives it automatic street cred, much in the same way applesauce is now considered a drink.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.lcdsoundsystem.com/">LCD Soundsytem</a>’s “All My Friends” might be long. It rest on a looped piano piece. It might also be the song I listen to on repeat when I fly to Ireland. I can’t explain it much more than that. It makes sense, and it radiates my emotions.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-82461045112835059512007-12-18T20:59:00.000-08:002007-12-18T21:14:09.514-08:0017: Thematic OrchestrationI've been thinking lately about my Top Ten Albums of the year, and my Top Underwhelming Albums of the year, for no other reason then I don't reallllllly want to study for finals. I'm not planning on doing much with the information, and it's hard to make the Top Ten Albums truly fair, because some of the albums I played the hell out of this year are older releases, or playlists I made.<br /><br />All this led me to realize that I tend to favor two sorts of albums- the first is thematic, with a few fist pumpers, that I listen to with my throat, feeling the vibrations from my speakers threading through me (New Pornographer's "Twin Cinema", the Arcade Fire's "Funeral", Menomena's "Friend and Foe"). The other is the album that I must listen to with headphones, that invariably strikes me as delicate or orchestrated (Jose Gonzalez's "Veneer"(/the Live Concert via RBally), the Cinematic Orchestra's "Ma Fluer", Benjamin Biolay's "Negatif").<br /><br />I wonder why this is. One strikes me as poetry, the other as affirming.<br /><br />--<br />I've been watching those <a href="http://www.blogotheque.net/takeawayshows/">Take Away Shows</a>, thanks to the link by Rachel. They're sort of amazing. And in some <a href="http://www.blogotheque.net/article.php3?id_article=3436">cases</a>, almost make me cry (the sheer joy both of the kids and the musicians makes me want to pack my bags, grab my markers and hit the road. I swear I will one of these days. And I might be dragging my own kids-if that ever happens- along, I might be dragging a man-if that ever happens- but I swear, I'll do it.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-48651088840544749952007-12-13T20:56:00.001-08:002007-12-13T20:59:19.226-08:0016: Going Very Fast without StoppingNew Jersey is moving hard towards ending the death penalty in our fine state, something I'm more than strongly behind. I feel like the death penalty is an outdated punishment, and yet another incident in which America severely lags behind its 'global equals'. Capital punishment is overwhelmingly not a deterrent to crime, especially if you consider that America has the highest incarceration rate in the world, and it's only growing. Maybe if some of that money went towards the necessary social services instead of going to the 'means'-- but then, I guess it's harder to sell bills to provide free, in patient drug counseling, or better work-release programs, or money to juvenile detention centers to push youth offenders towards opportunities that would eliminate the necessity of crime.<br /><br /><br /><br />--<br /><br /><br />I've been reading lately about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Hurndall">Tom Hurndall</a>, which has led me to learn more about similar <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2006/06/24/world/middleeast/24miller.html">cases</a>.<br /><br />It's not that I don't believe that Israel should have a home land. I do.<br />But I also believe that Palestinians have just as a viable claim to that land.<br /><br />And articles like this make me even more skeptical of the sheer <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/international/story/0,,1750487,00.html">'just'</a> [impunity] of the Israeli government's policies. Not that Fatwa, or Hammas have pursued pacifistic strategies. It is very much a firefight, a battle of wills and stubbornness and age-old mind sets. I wish there was a way I could proactive about helping.<br /><br />I've realized that's become my mindset about a lot of things: you can bitch, or you can be proactive. I'm working towards the latter.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-82295621269576250412007-12-07T12:46:00.001-08:002007-12-07T12:53:33.905-08:00Updatage<span style="font-family: lucida grande;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">Nearly a year.<br /><br />Yup. If I were super poetic or something, I would wait until January 1, at least, and make some speech about writing more and such. But that's basically bull.<br /><br />New plan: next semester I will not be in Boston (yet to be determined where I will be). After that, I'll be doing....something. Pancake tour of North America, maybe. So it reasons out that I should use this to get a word in about where I am. Sort of like Waldo. But with better hats. Granted, it wouldn't be too scandalous cause I saw that Lifetime special about the girl who put naked photos of herself online just for her boyfriend and years later they were still online, only then they were haunting her cause she was all wrinkly and withered and a chain smoker from the stress of being stupid and failed relationships.<br /><br />Plus, I'm billing myself as the Correspondent from Afar on the BU Central blog (<a href="http://bucentral.blogspot.com/2007/12/where-does-music-come-from.html">where I totally just went batshit or something on finding music</a>) and I figure... if I'm writing in that, I guess I ought to be writing in here. Theoretically.<br /></span></span></span>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-1170284146913630642007-01-31T14:54:00.000-08:002007-02-10T09:27:46.994-08:00Influential Albums in the Life of 01312007<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2426/4042/1600/337737/Influential%20Albums0001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2426/4042/320/584039/Influential%20Albums0001.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-1170284069922383932007-01-31T14:53:00.000-08:002007-01-31T14:54:29.930-08:00Fluidity 01252007<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2426/4042/1600/324357/Snowman0001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2426/4042/320/524710/Snowman0001.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-1169313348757875152007-01-20T08:56:00.000-08:002007-01-20T09:15:48.766-08:0001162007 the Rain and Elliott Smith<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2426/4042/1600/115605/Rain0001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2426/4042/320/673920/Rain0001.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38328606.post-1168662221213997532007-01-12T20:20:00.000-08:002007-01-12T20:23:48.956-08:00Clarification: NON SCAN<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2426/4042/1600/504760/SKYE0001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2426/4042/320/810594/SKYE0001.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But important nonetheless...<br /><br />Just to clarify, all images appearing on this scan are my property. I made them, I scanned them, and they're all direct from my journal (currently a dark blue composition book). Just thought I'd clarify.<br /><br />To enforce this rule is:Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04030367255541662720noreply@blogger.com0