Blink by Malcolm Gladwell

Ever since The Tipping Point came out, my parents have been urging me to read it. Ever contrary, I've finally gotten around to reading Gladwell's other book, Blink, an analysis of how our ever-confusing gut sometimes knows better than we do. How could a team of art historians be able to spot a fake statue at a single glance when laborious scientific testing initially could not expose it? When can we trust our gut instinct about some people and when are our cultural assumptions overwhelming our gut? This is fun stuff to think about, fascinating to read about, and will make you slightly afraid of what's going on in your subconscious mind.

( continued... )

And this is why I will probably, despite all efforts to the contrary, end up in grad. school writing on books people should read but don't because they're "too old," "too whiny," or "too dense"--nevermind that I somehow can find an epic poem written in the 1600's about Genesis to have relevance to my every-day life, but we all know that I'm a bit strange in the head (I mean that in the way that is least derogatory to both myself and people who don't have a bizarre love affair with Paradise Lost possible.). *sigh* And I compose sentences that should be illegal in terms of both length and style when I'm not focused on counteracting my Woolf-ian tendencies. Blame Ginny (except she can actually get away with sentences like that and still be a stylish writing diva).

In any case, in light of my challenge to write the awesome hardboiled "romance" novel (that is looking less and less like a romance novel), I've checked out and placed on hold any book I can find about the San Francisco underworld, San Francisco's relationship with Film Noir (or, more accurately, Film Noir's hot, steamy love affair with my fair city), and critical histories female detectives. I'm still waiting for most of the books to come in (le sigh), but today I got to cozy up in one of the most devistatingly hipster *rolls eyes* cafes in Portland (Half 'n Half) with Linda Mizejewski's Hardboiled and High Heeled: The Woman Detective in Popular Culture (the title's a little misleading as it deals with the hardboiled genre only in passing and focuses more on Clarice Starling and Dana Scully but still worth a look for anyone who was intrigued by the title [Here's looking at you, Saira ;D.].). (I really need to stop with these sentences *subtracts five style points from this entry* *not that I'm actually counting* *anyway, moving on*.

(On a completely random side note, I'm a little grossed out but slightly amused by the fact that the only thing that makes you more "tragically hip" (in a *roll eyes* sort of way) than reading books on Film Noir in a coffee shop, is reading books on Film Noir in a hipster coffee shop plastered with zines.)

Now, on the one hand, while understanding how the archetype of the female detective has been played before can help inform some of the decisions I make, truly, only the historical bit of this research is going to really help me write the story. It'll assure that I don't screw up terribly in re-creating post-war SF, help me jazz up the atmosphere, really help give my novel that air of authenticity, yada yada yada. Yet, for some reason, I feel compelled to turn this whole thing into a double exercise. ONE: I'm going to play with my creative writing skillz! TWO: And... I'm going to indulge in a little cultural/literary/media criticism on the side. Because, um, when I grow up, I've decided, I want to be writing both novels and books like Mizejewski's that take our culture and blow the mind of everyone who thought they understood how gender was working in X movie/book/radio show. So, yeah, my plan is to take the cultural criticism into account when character/plot-drafting but not let it dominate my thought process--the story's going to want to go in its own direction anyhow--and save the other bit of the research, and my own experiential drafting process for a different project all-together.

( My research today led me to several conclusions )

I'll keep this post from getting any longer by leaving you with two thought-provoking quotes:

"The romance story in all its forms works hard to gloss over the bumps and pitfalls of heterosexuality. But the female detective genre depends on these tensions to sustain the story" (Mizejewski 12)

"Filmmakers were drawn to San Francisco's peculiar mythology, its reputation as a city of misfits" (Rich, SF. Noir, 10)

And that is why I love San Francisco. <3

So, I have been challenged by her awesomeness, Rachel, to write a "romance" novel that is better than all the terrible fanfics/romance novels I've found as of late. I've taken liberties with the prompt and decided to write the adventures of Nikita Steele, private eye, that wily female detective of mid-1940's San Francisco (you haven't heard of her because I invented her). This means that I'll be doing something heavily plot-based for the first time in a long time. It also means I have to devise a mystery that's mysterious enough to keep people reading and has a solution that doesn't make people say, "Well that's lame!" It also means that I have to develop a romantic tryst (I refuse to do "one true love" stuff) that is at least believable in the context of the novel, doesn't have nauseating dialogue, and does not involve alabaster skin.

This should be fun. *rubs hands together*

In other news, yay! Rachel is here!

A very dear friend of mine (who is likely reading this--I hope you don't mind me re-answering your question here.) once asked me why I care so much about gender studies and feminism. Well,

I am a feminist because...

-I believe that stated equality (which I'm not even fully convinced has been achieved) is different from a change in cultural attitude. So a woman could theoretically be a CEO now, but that doesn't mean that society would treat her the same way.

-Sex is still portrayed as something men want and women participate in to keep men.

-I still know women who felt obligated to have sex when they didn't want to because they "led him on."

-I still know women who think they need to act ditzy to get a guy.

-It's still considered okay to talk about writers like Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, and Toni Morrison as "whiners," and a huge chunk of critical focus is still placed on their gender (or race, in Morrison's case) and not on their art. On the other hand, people look at white male writers as representing a "universal" perspective that everyone can relate to. This is not to criticize writing by dead white guys (which I do actually like quite a bit), but it's important to remember that they write from a specific perspective just like any so-called minority group. I was once obsessed with counter-culture literature (Ken Kesey, Jack Kerouac, etc.), and I'll never forget the moment I realized that their books weren't written for me. For all their talk about enlightened living and bohemian freedom, their intellectual utopia was for men only (not to mention very self-indulgent).

-I had a similar realization about Wired magazine. The ads, the articles (which almost exclusively talked about the achievements of men in the fields of science and technology)...they aren't meant for me. Sure, I'll still read and enjoy Wired, but, really, it's a bit of a slap in the face.

-The primary joke of so many commercials on tv, whether advertising phones or Klondike Bars, seems to be that men and women can't actually communicate with each other. Why do we want to believe this?

-Some women think they're being cool or better girlfriend material when they proclaim to like action movies better than chick flicks. While I don't really like chick flicks much, action movies are just as empty-headed. No real reason for there to be a hierarchy.

-The existence of Chick-lit.

-While there's always a taboo against seeking help for depression, and women often get told that it's just them being hysterical women, men often are discouraged from seeking help by cultural taboos against showing weakness. I know several men who fall into this category (I could also cite The Noonday Demon for more on male depression, but I don't have my copy with me.).

-My guy friends have to feel self-conscious about doing "girly" things.

-There's a manliness taboo against men being vegetarian if they want to be.

-Both men and women feel like they have to talk a certain way around each other instead of just being themselves.

-Many women (me included sometimes) subconsciously feel they have to assure potential male dates that "they're not easily offended."

-Prop. 8 and prop. 4 exist in California. The literature on prop. 4 is trying to claim that Planned Parenthood shelters rapists.

-Every time a man whistles at me in the streets, my first reaction is to reach for whatever sweater I may or may not be wearing and attempt to cover myself more.

-Some people don't understand why it's a huge deal that certain VP nominees used to make rape victims pay for their rape kits.

-People tell me that making lists like this will ruin my chances of getting a guy.

-People telling me that I'd "make a great lesbian" (as if, you know, lesbians are a group of women who all act, talk, dress, think, love, eat, sleep the same way. So do straight women. There's no individuality at all!). Also, people assuming that only lesbians care about feminism because straight women "need" men. Also also, people assuming that straight and lesbian are the only two types of women.

There's more, of course, but I think that's quite a bit of food for thought for now.

We can't change the world overnight. We can't dig up deeply embedded cultural attitudes overnight. But unless we start to de-familiarize cultural assumptions, what chance do we have?

I've been having such ridiculous amounts of fun lately.

Last weekend was Buzzy's birthday and so we drove down to Corvalis to visit her, her family, and Rachel. The drive mostly consisted of Taylor and I singing Jens Lekman very loudly (at least in Taylor's case it was on key!), and me feeling guilty for subjecting Rob to Billy Joel (hey! I like Vienna, okay?). When we got there, all was dried Asian pears and joy! We went to the farmer's market to pick up some fresh tomatoes and basil for pasta sauce and had pad thai made with fresh market vegetables (topped with Sriracha and coconut peanut sauce, of course!) and fair trade coffee for lunch. Then we harassed Buzzy at work, played with their many farm cats, and read out loud from evil romance novels. The party itself was was murder mystery themed and so of course we had to dress up. I was a "hardboiled femme fatale detective," which pretty much consisted of me squishing the two main film noir archetypes into a character and pretending they fit. Taylor was Maddie Mustard-Dijon, Colonol Mustard's daughter, Rob was The Pink Panther, Rachel was Agatha Badcrumble, the lovely hostess, Buzzy was Yvette, her maid, and Robyn was Batty Aunt Betty Holmes. Fun was had by all and only the (red velvet) cake was murdered. Buzzy's family is really awesome too!

On Tuesday, Alexis and I had a girl's night out at the Baghdad Theater, a nifty little theater on Hawthorne that shows movies that came out months ago (aka- Hancock) for $3 in a beautiful theater with Arabian-style decor and good beer (not included in the $3). After, we went to the Pied Cow, a cafe in an old Victorian house (now covered in kitch. They've even got a mini shrine/altar thing!) for dessert.

Last night, San Francisco's Alonzo's King's Lines Ballet (a contemporary ballet company) performed with Shaolin Monks in an incredible piece that compared and contrasted the two arts. The dancing was truly inspiring and (in my opinion) well integrated with the monks, but I think the chunk of the audience who only came for the shaolin disagreed with me. The thing is, I've stopped looking at modern dance from a "what does it mean" perspective. I mean, sometimes there's clearly a story going on, and if that's the case, well, I'll try and see the story. But a lot of times it's just exploring the human body and how beautiful it is moving through space, playing with the texture and contrast of form and movement. This is interesting in itself and so instead of seeing the dance and the martial arts as two different things, I tried to see them as two different contrasting types of movement. In any case, it was breathtaking and inspiring, and I'm so glad I went!

Now Rachel's here (she has a job dipping shortbread into chocolate!), and we are flatmates once more! Tonight we discovered that it's possible to find episodes of "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego" (the game show) on Youtube! You have no idea how happy this makes us! It really was the best show ever.

Also, I placed a hold for a book chock-full of Noir pulp novels *rubs hands together excitedly*. I know they'll be cliché and cringingly sexist, but Noir just fascinates me for some reason.

In the mean time, I've had two job interviews that went very well. One was the PSU one, and the other is for an office job at the Jewish Federation of Portland. I'd be helping out with the website and doing some editing for The Jewish Review, which sounds like it would actually be fairly interesting work as for as office jobs go. I'd be really happy with either job, and I really, really hope that one of them comes through! *crosses fingers*


In the mean time, I'm having fun, enjoying my friends, and being glad I'm here. So eat, drink, and be merry, for soon I work.

Goodnight!

In between writing an article about fanfiction, and Rachel, Buzzy's and my discovery of yet another romance novel written by the crazy lady who writes romance novels about giant Scotsmen with waist-length hair, I have discovered many gross abuses of writing. I try and keep an open mind--after all, I've written some terrible things in my time--but there are some things that just shouldn't be done.

For example:

-Sensuous is a lovely adjective. It does not, however, accurately describe the scent of pizza. Not even pizza carried by Mulder.

-While we're on the note of scents, no one actually wants their lover to smell like jasmine and sandalwood. If your lover lives in the Scottish Highlands in 1513, the chances of them smelling like jasmine and sandalwood sink down to the preposterous.

-Also, your lover probably does not taste like vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, meadow grass, autumn rain, caramel, butterflies, truffles, apricots, or anything else that you'd see listed in wine tasting notes.

-Taylor would like to add: The milk maid's milky-white skin does not have to taste like milk.

-Contrary to popular belief, your metaphors and similes actually do have to make sense; they can't just sound poetic. Ex- "He missed him like white sand." (no beaches appeared otherwise in this story)

-Adults do not play truth or dare nearly so often as you think they do.

-They also don't go to as many prom-like events as you think they do.

-Clumsiness as a single character flaw does not make your character well-rounded.

-It is not enough merely to state that your character is intelligent; they actually have to act that way.

-Okay, I "suppose" that one could argue that I'm being subjective here, but, really, men who treat women like shit are not sexy. Not even vampires. Just saying.

-If you are writing fanfiction, chances are people care more about the extant characters than the ones you make up.

-On that note, if you are writing fanfiction, the excuse "it's just fanfiction" does not actually excuse everything from the characters not acting like themselves to making fun of date rape. With writing comes responsibility / momentary semi-serious note

-Eyes are not orbs. And, while I do find them fascinating, I doubt the average person spends as much time gazing into their (insert gemstone) depths as your characters do.

-I don't care what they told you in elementary school: sapphire is not a more interesting word for blue. The same goes for ruby, amethyst, emerald, or whatever other jewel tone you can think of. People's eyes are not color swatches from the Land's End catalog.

-One word: alabaster. Don't use it.

-Sexuality is far more complicated than a boy saying, "Girls are icky," and vice versa.

-I know you're trying to make your character a feminist, but she's in the Middle Ages/Victorian Era/Regency/etc. and having her spout anachronistic clichés doesn't further her feminism--it just makes your character feel made up. That's not to say strong women didn't exist, but the ones that did still had to find creative ways to work within the boundaries of their society. Shouting, "GIRL POWER!" did not make you exempt. Sorry.

-I'm sure I could think of more if I tried, but I hope this list was at least semi-entertaining.

So many of my friends came to Portland last week! It was like a social-palooza! I had a really delicious vegan lunch with Thomas and his new girlfriend, who's very nice, and got to hang with Lucy and Aisha at Powell's. Then, on Thursday, Rachel and Buzzy came up from Corvalis (Yay!), and they, Lucy, Aisha, Anne, Taylor, Rob, and I went to OMSI (Oregon Museum of Science and Industry) ( to play with the Van De Graaff generator ), create our own creatures, ride the earthquake generator, and see how wrinkly we would be at the age of 40.

On Sunday, Taylor and I went to the Museum of Contemporary Craft to see Manuf®actured, a really awesome exhibit that turns the concept of craft on its head. Notable were dresses made from single zippers, doilies in the shapes of deadly viruses (SARS, AIDS, etc.), and anti-consumerist teacups. Coolness^nth.

We were going to go to another gallery, but it was closed on Sunday, so we checked out the yard sale going on next door. The nice guy sold us an amazing 50's table for $15! It's hardwood, but thin hardwood, with two leaves and neat retro-y legs. The one problem with it is that it's an ugly, glossy light brown (I like brown, but this is just not a good shade), not to mention that the paint's peeling, but a fresh coat of paint (preferably a bright, happy green... avocado-y, we're thinking) will make it the most perfect thing ever! Then we saved Robbit from his leg-cramp-induced boredom with Brazil, popcorn, dragonfruit, and Newton's Folly cider. I must say, Newton's Folly isn't bad, but I really, really miss the delicious cider I used to get in the British Isles. Also, I love me some dystopia.

Then, last night, Taylor whisked me off to the Broadway theater to see Boogie Nights and pig out on sour watermelon candy until we sugar-crashed.

Fun to come will involve exploring the gorgeous gorge with Alexis and Buzzy's amazing mystery birthday party (with costumes. I'm going to combine my favorite archetypes and be a harboiled femme [fatale])

I've an interview at PSU on Thursday for an administrative assistant job for the art/art history department. *covets job* Decent pay + benefits + college environment + art department... not a bad deal. *crosses fingers*

I'm going to type up book reviews on my two latest reads: Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale, and Libba Bray's A Great and Terrible Beauty soon-ish.

Cold-pressed coffee at Blend makes the perfect treat for a hot day. *slurps*

Also, does anyone have any idea how to fix my mood icons?!

On two more important-ish notes:

1. Bitch magazine, the home of my dream internship, might have to shut down if they can't raise enough money! I know that I have a particularly selfish interest in this so my telling you about it seems lame, but I'm also telling you about it because I really support the magazine and will continue to read it no matter what happens with the internship. It's a fantastic publication with thoughtful, interesting, relevant articles and is fantastically designed to boot. If nothing else, I'd encourage you buy a copy of their latest issue to see if you like it.

2. I've been avoiding saying anything about certain evil Vice Presidential nominees who happen to be of my gender because I don't want to give her any more attention. Granted, I'm glad that people are posting the scary facts about her, but I almost feel like talking so much about her is playing into a trap. Nevertheless, if you haven't seen the SNL Tina Fey sketch about her, you absolutely must. I also "love" that apparently Republicans are calling the sketch sexist (for reasons I can't quite fathom.)--it's like they have a new toy that they don't know how to use (Ooo! We're supporting a female candidate now! Let's shout sexist at everyone who disagrees with us!).

In the words of seirai, Sarah Palin is NOT your RAD requirement! (Carleton inside joke)

The King's Lines Ballet performing with Shaolin Monks? Y/y?

*does the "I have tickets even if they're in the nose-bleed section" dance*

So (as Seamus Heaney began his telling of the epic Beowulf)...

Today began like any other day. I was a good girl and cleaned my sink, and did laundry, and checked Craigslist, and emailed my resume to people, and worked on my writing samples, and found a live Noe Venable CD for only $6.50. Very normal (except for the Noe Venable CD, considering that most CD stores don't have anything by her at all). Dealt with terrible news. Not so normal, but that's how life goes. Taylor and I made pan-fried tofu with steamed veggies and peanut sauce for dinner. Also normal (and delicious). Then Rob met up with us, and we met his aunt, Nancy, for drinks at a classy hotel. Here's where things cease to be boring...

( For we went on a doughnut quest )

Some day I'll actually go back during the day and be able to get whatever flavor I like. All-in-all a productive day, methinks.

This is totally Cyrano de Bergerac just waiting to happen.

So I dipped into Reading Frenzy, a store that sells Portland independent press stuffs, and, as usual, fell totally in love with the aesthetic, even though I have no idea where to even start reading when it comes to things like zines. Frankly, I hate the elitism and single aesthetic-ness that goes along with this kind of hipster culture. I hate that whenever I go into places like Reading Frenzy, I feel like I look like I'm trying to be an image-obsessed, edgester (not a word) with cool sliding and dripping from her armpits instead of sweat when I'm just not that girl, and I don't mean that despairingly. I'm me, and I'm not sure what image that comes with, but having a very defined image doesn't particularly matter to me. I can deal with not having the image. It's just weird feeling like I look out of place in a place that deals in things that I actually do care about. I love the idea of independent publishing, media and things that kinda have been absorbed into the hipster aesthetic for some reason like diy culture (etsy, cutxpaste, Bust mag).

It's frustrating because it's at once so me and not me, or, I guess, it's a me that would be if I could make it my own, carve out my own niche, and, above all, be a little less shy. I'll never be an elitist, and I'll never fit their picture, but maybe that wouldn't matter. I wish I knew where to start; since I've gotten here nonfiction writing has been calling to me. I could go back to what I learned in the book class, really play with it. I could do a lot of things--I just need to find the door. Is there space for me?

( Tangent: I hate Pitchfork )

This is what I get for moving to "the hipster city" (though I do love Portland, I do! I do!). And I must admit that I love pointing out their hypocrisies with Taylor (Yeah, so, this cafe has birds stenciled on the doors and zines on all the tables, but they take American Express!)

But in any case, I'm actually planning to do things this weekend that don't just involve going to coffee shops and writing (articles, applications, and resumes), which is pretty much what I've been doing every day as of late. I'm meeting up with Alexis on Sunday (the boys might come too) to check out an event at the Time-Based Art Festival. I may or may not check out the Belmont Street Fair or the Muddy Boot Organic Festival. And, of course, I'm helping Rob move into his new place. In fact, I'm driving his stuff over there because my friends love me and want to see my get my license or something *groan*. I hate cars. Still. Even now that I know how to drive them.

Tonight, Rob and I went to The Palio (one of my new favorite cafes. It's in this little area of the SE, where the streets get all maze-y, and it has huge tables, and beautiful lamps that emit a soft yellow glow at night, and books, and board games, and good music, and yummy cake) and played Scrabble. Unfortunately, we realized too late that there was more than one full set of letters in the box, making it difficult to attack each other with killer words.

Still dreaming about my future apartment. It now has a cat (still imaginary) because Taylor and I may be caving in on our "no pets" mutual pact. Hopefully the cat won't upset my windowsill herb garden.

It's weird being cranky and hopeful at the same time.

Oh yeah, and Lhasa de Sela's album La Llorona is incredible.

My writing style changes after some point in the evening. Funny that.

So... from what I can tell, there seems to be something of a rivalry between two of Portland's premier bakeries dedicated to my favorite of desserts: the cupcake. Or, at least, according to the internet flame war I saw when looking up cupcake bakeries in Portland, there's a rivalry. And, you know, people acting stupid on the internet is always an accurate representation of real life.

But I digress...

In my quest to get a job, I have visited both cupcake bakeries, and now find myself fully qualified to give you the lowdown on:

Saint Cupcake VS Cupcake Jones
by Steph, admirer and baker of cupcakes

Cupcakes Tried
Saint Cupcake: lemon berry and vanilla toffee
Cupcake Jones: grasshopper (Please note that I've only been here once)

Eco-friendly/sustainability/food ethic-y things

Saint Cupcake: Local in Portland, Vegan cupcakes available, made with real food (as opposed to artificial banana flavoring or chocolate-flavored syrup, for example), community involved
Cupcake Jones: Local in Portland, commitment to using local ingredients, made with real food, cupcakes come in compostable corn-based containers, gives back to community

Frosting
Saint Cupcake: Lovely giant swirls of incredibly light, whipped buttercream. The berry glaze on the lemon berry was nice and flavorful. Not too sweet.
Cupcake Jones: Less frosting, but still a lovely, light, whipped texture. Not too sweet. Not sure what flavor it was supposed to be though.

Really, though, I want both of their recipes. The texture on both was sublime.

Cake
Saint Cupcake: Nice very, very light texture. The lemon cake in the lemon berry could have been more lemony. The vanilla one was spot-on though.
Cupcake Jones: Very cake-y texture. The chocolate wasn't rich enough for me.

Fillings
Saint Cupcake: I don't think they offer filled cupcakes...
Cupcake Jones: Delicious mint-chocolate cream that made up for the cake part being fairly normal.

Toppings
Saint Cupcake: Mostly your typical fair: rainbow sprinkles and the like. Yummy toffee bits on the vanilla toffee :)
Cupcake Jones: Fannnncy. My grasshopper cupcake had a chocolate mint stick on it that I had to eat off before I could put the lid on my compostable to-go cup on. Apparently on their "The Pearl" vanilla specialty (it's called The Pearl because they're in the Pearl District, get it?) there's a white chocolate "pearl".

Sizes/Prices
Saint Cupcake: Normal cupcake size $2.50 or "dot" (mini cupcake size) $1.25
Cupcake Jones: Rather large cupcakes (probably larger than normal because they are filled) $3.25 or mini $1.50

I'm sure this was fascinating to everyone who is not in Portland.

Oh yes, I'll just move to an entirely new state without a job secured and find one. Great idea.

"Ballsy," said my dad's business friends, "Ballsy."

Where are all the bloody jobs?!

(No, I haven't heard back from the job I interviewed for on Tuesday. I'm just being impatient because I have too much time on my hands. At least I'm finally writing for the first time in I don't know how long.)

I'm fine, just frustrated. Such is life. Don't mind me.

/whine

So I had a job interview today, for an office-y job that I'd really like despite the low pay, at the Portland Ballet. It seems like it would be a cool place to work, and I'd get free ballet lessons to supplement the salary. It also probably wouldn't mean I'd have to put my dreams of interning at Bitch mag on hold (Funny how I keep writing about this like it's a sure thing. Steph, finish your articles!). Unfortunately, it's really difficult to gauge how well the interview went and so I'm just going to have to wait and see. *sigh* There's a lot of waiting involved in the real world, isn't there?

I keep having very strange dreams:

-Last night I dreamed that someone had hurt Julia (my former boss at Dacie Moses), and she was scared. Rachel and I were panicking, and Shanti (her adorable, shy yellow lab) just looked so sad. We offered to switch bedrooms with her (she didn't feel safe in her own room). And Dacie Moses house was a combination between my house in CA and Dacie's and had an invisible wall near the front door.

-A few nights ago: I was making the world's most complicated late-night snack that involved some kind of falafel lasagna (?), complete with a sauce made from scratch, and some kind of cheese rolls. I was trying to have all this fancy food made by midnight, otherwise it'd feel too late to eat it.

And thus concludes the further adventures of Steph's really weird subconsciousness.

In theory, Rachel comes back tomorrow! This means I can finally see her! Yay!

Also, I've been reading a fair amount of fanfiction as of late to help out with my article on one of the many common misogynistic tendencies of fanfiction. Just when you think you see it all, someone makes you doubt humanity even more. Note to fanfiction writers: non-consentual sex, even (and especially) when there is alcohol involved, is not funny. I don't care if it's between characters who eventually do get together. It's not funny.

I really shouldn't try to write anything coherent this late/early. Goodnight moon!

-The MAX yellow line skips your stop entirely.

-Sometimes people actually do email you about a job interview two weeks after you applied.

-Belly dancing classes at an actual belly dancing studio are a lot more challenging than rec center classes or Northfield community ed. classes.

-Powells will eat your non-income if you're not careful.

-On the off chance that you ignore the previous revelation, buying a copy of Bitch magazine at the same time as a really interesting book on the mainstreaming (not actually a verb) of the porn industry while the book that you're currently reading is Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale (all by coincidence!) will make you feel like a walking stereotype. Fortunately, this will not (nor should it) stop you from doing this.

-Men you find attractive will try and start a conversation with you when your mouth is full of pumpkin flax spice granola bar.

-Middle-aged men love giving advice to young women who somehow send out daughterly vibes.
Exhibit A: Falafel cart guy: Oh! Have you bought falafel here before? Me: No... Him: Where are you from? Me: I just moved here...Him: Welcome to Portland! Are you going to school or looking for a job? A job? Well, you should go to the mall! Work in clothes! It's clean! Good pay! Good hours! Don't work in fast food! No place for a girl like you! It's dirty! Here, I'll give you a discount because it's your first time! God bless!
Exhibit B: Used bookstore man: Do come back again! You add such nice atmosphere to the store! Me: Thanks... Him: Are you a neighbor? Me: Yeah, I just moved here; I'm planning on moving south-east-ward Him: Make sure you don't move out too far! You don't want to end up in the neighborhoods with all the meth addicts!

-Pretentious "movie lounges" can be fun.

-Miso, soy sauce, ginger, garlic, and rice vinegar are a winning combination, especially in broth form over udon noodles, spinach, mushrooms, and tofu.

-Chinese grocery stores sell rice vinegar and sesame oil for ridiculously cheap.

-When you see people putting stickers of squiggly drawings on street signs and telephone poles, it's really, really, really tempting to ask them why they're doing it.

-PHDs in cultural studies only exist in places like the University of Minnesota or UC Davis. Potential for being hired afterward perhaps not very high? Maybe I do want to do English? Or women's and gender studies... would that mean I should take some extra classes?

-Sometimes it's okay to admit that you're 21, scared shitless, and have only few ideas that you're beginning to piece together about what you want to do with your life. And it's okay that somehow this bothers you less than it maybe should.

Munching on our homemade sushi and imitation edamame (we couldn't get any at the last minute) and sipping our green tea, we had this conversation:

(This came up while talking about grad school applications)
Taylor- Well...it's hard to prove or disprove anything in literature.
Me- Well, you can probably prove that there are no aliens in Jane Eyre
Robert- The lightning strike! Aliens split the tree!
Taylor- The first thing I would do is read all the contemporary literature on extraterrestrials and note anything that resembled it in Jane Eyre.
Robert- She's an orphan... yeah, right!
Taylor- Helen coughed in her face all that time and she didn't die!
Me- Thank you, Agent Mulder.
Robert- That's how she can stay out in the cold on the moors.
Me- So she's an alien...
Robert- Rochester's probably an alien too!!

And then, inspired by our nori, we started singing "Under the Sea" while cleaning up.

I had a belly dancing class today! I'm so delightfully sore (the kind you only get when you dance after not having danced for awhile). It's marvelous!

And as a sequel to that last post, here's a rundown and reviews of the books I've been reading as of late:

( The Mistress of the Art of Death by Ariana Franklin )


( Bone by Jeff Smith )

( Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro )

( Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl )

I'm trying to build a writing portfolio (a much cooler one than the Carleton writing portfolio... okay, that was an unfunny joke) to use to maybe get some freelance jobs/that internship at Bitch that I have giddy dreams about every night. There's something so liberating about researching and writing articles with naught but caffeine and my own determination for fuel. Writing is fun again! Huzzah!

In the works:
-A piece about the mistreatment of strong women in fanfiction
-WWOOFing: Or how I stopped worrying and learned to love compost
-Food advertising: the transformation of healthy food from necessity to accessory
-.... maybe something about exploring Portland through coffee shops? I mean, I'm sure it's been done a million times before, but it'd be just a way to show how I write something not politically fueled as opposed to something I'd actually try and publish.

And, you know, I don't care if I'm going about this in the "right" way or not.

So I'm here in Portland, learning the bus and the MAX routes (reading for pleasure betwixt and between), drinking about three cups of coffee a day from various cafés (because there are so many awesome ones. Coffee Crutch, Stumptown Coffee Roasters [delicious, rich coffee], Common Grounds [excellent chocolate croissants]...), worshiping Powells, and, of course, spending every waking moment that I'm not exploring the city searching Craigslist desperately for jobs.

The job search is frustrating, partially because people don't seem to have any faith in people's abilities to learn how to do a job. I try to remind myself that I've only been here a week, but it's nerve wracking nevertheless. It's extra frustrating because Taylor and I can't move out of this temporary apartment until we get jobs (or at least one of us has a job), and I really want to get out of here. It's actually a nice apartment, technically, but it's in a really soulless part of town, and because it's so temporary, it doesn't feel like home.

I can't wait until we live somewhere we pick out ourselves, hopefully in the South East. I want to buy fabric to decorate the walls with and grow herbs on the kitchen windowsill. Sometimes, when we're sitting at a café with a book, Taylor, Rob and I will start daydreaming about apartments together. Funny how priorities change.

I love the city so far. Last night, we met up with Anne and went to a really awesome jazz club called Jimmy Mac's. The band was amazing, playful and energetic. A few nights ago, we went to a coffee and dessert place called Rimsky Korsacoffeehouse, which is in a restored Victorian house, where they have orange mochas and sundaes with raspberry sauce, not to mention classical guitarists, random stuff hanging all over the pink walls and tables (doodles on receipts, tickets, etc.), and a waiter who randomly sang to us for no apparent reason. Plus the bathroom is painted as if it were under water. Tomorrow, we're going to make French toast and check out the Saturday Market. Next week I'm going to check out the belly dancing studio that Rachel and I were looking at (speaking of whom... I wish she were here. And Buzzy too).

There's so much I want to do and see... now if only I could get a job and feel settled in. I still feel like a visitor here.

Am I still scared? Yes, but I'll get through it.