In a few weeks I hop on a plane to start teacher training in England. In the meantime my mother has been barging into my room about five times a day screaming about some errand we need to run before September. Everything is an emergency to her, like she has no concept of time or of importance: "DO YOU HAVE ENOUGH SOCKS FOR ENGLAND?! YOU NEED SOCKS! WE NEED TO GET SOCKS TODAY!" I tell her that I have a lot of socks, but I could get some more in the next couple of weeks. "YOU REALLY NEED TO GET THIS DONE!" Okay, I tell her, but even if I completely forget it's not like they don't sell socks in England. Then my mom calms down for about five minutes, after which she flings open my door and starts screaming her concerns over whether I have enough underwear.
Showing posts with label things that irritate me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label things that irritate me. Show all posts
Monday, August 15, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Some thoughts on Jane Austen
So this week I've been reading a bit of Jane Austen. See, every now and then I descend into a mood where I just want to lounge on the couch in my underpants and have a good cry, and a few days ago a period drama film seemed like the perfect side dish to complement tears and snot dripping out of my nose.
It's healthy, I promise.
Anyway, I settled on "Mansfield Park," which turned out to be pretty enjoyable. Well, MOST of it turned out to be pretty enjoyable, except the parts that kept awkwardly insisting that the characters address the issue of Britain's role in the slave trade. I hadn't yet read "Mansfield Park," but I had to assume that this was a creative liberty taken by the screenwriter/director, an assumption which inspired me to read the book. Because, even though I'm all about the abolition of slavery, let's just be honest for a second: Jane Austen's books are about who danced with who, who eloped with who, and who violated some kind of code of propriety that you as a modern reader don't fully understand and need to have explained to you by the Internet--I'm not calling these books shallow (and in fact I would agree with those who say that Jane Austen seemed to deeply understand people's characters), I'm just saying that when you try to turn a Jane Austen book into a cinematic commentary on the slave trade, you're just מפגר.
Anyway, my point is that over the past few days I've been reading "Mansfield Park" and loving it. But I have two other points to make:
It's healthy, I promise.
Anyway, I settled on "Mansfield Park," which turned out to be pretty enjoyable. Well, MOST of it turned out to be pretty enjoyable, except the parts that kept awkwardly insisting that the characters address the issue of Britain's role in the slave trade. I hadn't yet read "Mansfield Park," but I had to assume that this was a creative liberty taken by the screenwriter/director, an assumption which inspired me to read the book. Because, even though I'm all about the abolition of slavery, let's just be honest for a second: Jane Austen's books are about who danced with who, who eloped with who, and who violated some kind of code of propriety that you as a modern reader don't fully understand and need to have explained to you by the Internet--I'm not calling these books shallow (and in fact I would agree with those who say that Jane Austen seemed to deeply understand people's characters), I'm just saying that when you try to turn a Jane Austen book into a cinematic commentary on the slave trade, you're just מפגר.
Anyway, my point is that over the past few days I've been reading "Mansfield Park" and loving it. But I have two other points to make:
Monday, July 4, 2011
This is why you shouldn't do drugs, kids.
Just listen.
If there is one lesson that I learned from spending half a year marooned in a laundry room where no one spoke English, it is simply to listen. I'm not saying I'm totally cured of my former illnesses (talking for the sake of talking or trying to constantly crack jokes instead of actually listening), but spending that much time in an environment where any response on your part requires two weeks of advance notice to ensure all the tenses match really makes you weigh the importance of any statement you make. And more often than not you realize that what you have to say is not worth what you could be listening to.
Well apparently no one taught this lesson to Ivy League graduates. Because, based on my experience during a 4th of July party, they are incapable of shutting the fuck up for any moment longer than it takes to take a sip from their glasses of wine. I see occasional silent moments as a welcome moment to catch my breath and reflect on the conversation so far. They, on the other hand, seem to consider occasional silent moments as welcome as loud farts in polite company. I suppose I shouldn't judge them for not listening, because with their constant, loud ramblings the problem is actually that they don't even hear--actual active listening would be too much to ask for.
If there is one lesson that I learned from spending half a year marooned in a laundry room where no one spoke English, it is simply to listen. I'm not saying I'm totally cured of my former illnesses (talking for the sake of talking or trying to constantly crack jokes instead of actually listening), but spending that much time in an environment where any response on your part requires two weeks of advance notice to ensure all the tenses match really makes you weigh the importance of any statement you make. And more often than not you realize that what you have to say is not worth what you could be listening to.
Well apparently no one taught this lesson to Ivy League graduates. Because, based on my experience during a 4th of July party, they are incapable of shutting the fuck up for any moment longer than it takes to take a sip from their glasses of wine. I see occasional silent moments as a welcome moment to catch my breath and reflect on the conversation so far. They, on the other hand, seem to consider occasional silent moments as welcome as loud farts in polite company. I suppose I shouldn't judge them for not listening, because with their constant, loud ramblings the problem is actually that they don't even hear--actual active listening would be too much to ask for.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Akimba Revisited.
A couple nights ago I went to my high school reunion. To begin with reunions are pretty awkward: experiencing a solitary night of friendship with people you chose long ago not to stay in touch with? Yeah... My big complaint, however, was that reunions are only fun if one of your former classmates has gained a shit ton of weight and now looks like he/she has his/her own gravitational pull. Unfortunately, I'm that classmate. But I bet no one noticed it too much since I was fat in high school too. [*Fist Pump!*]
It wasn't that bad though. I had fun being intentionally vague about my future plans, drinking way too much, and laughing at some boys who grew extra hands when drunk and others who took the reunion's open bar as an opportunity for a nice long sob.
But the most memorable part of the evening was hands down a hug I received from a fellow classmate. I don't remember it because of the poignancy of a reunion of two dear friends, but because of the dread I felt when I saw her coming in for a hug while completely and utterly (and obviously) akimba.
It wasn't that bad though. I had fun being intentionally vague about my future plans, drinking way too much, and laughing at some boys who grew extra hands when drunk and others who took the reunion's open bar as an opportunity for a nice long sob.
But the most memorable part of the evening was hands down a hug I received from a fellow classmate. I don't remember it because of the poignancy of a reunion of two dear friends, but because of the dread I felt when I saw her coming in for a hug while completely and utterly (and obviously) akimba.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)