The Cat's Alive

Every now and then, in this crazy, entropic universe of ours, one stumbles upon true love in its purest form. A love that somehow manages to combine everything you find wonderful in this world. A love that keeps you up at night, and that makes it hard to think of little else. Cue Aretha Franklin's "At Last...." I know it's been a long and lonely road, but this is the real thing.


I never thought I'd say this, but Battlestar, step aside a little. Breaking Bad and My Boys, I'm sorry, you're going to have to move down a notch. Caprica and SATC, sorry, but you've been kicked off of the list all together.

Because epic room must be made for:



Why? Because it is perfect. In every way.

Essentially, someone somwhere decided to combine my deep love of sitcoms, abstract physics, all things nerdy, other forms of science, and my personal experience as "that girl" (well, minus the attractive-blonde-with-dudes-fawning-over-me part) to create a show that basically embodies everything good about this world. And who doesn't love a show with its own science blog?

If you thought the brief WoW addiction of Fall 2009 was bad (though luckily not as bad as Penny's), you have seen NOTHING. Let's hope this wears off before my actual Quantum Mechanics exam, but it's looking doubtful. No really, this is starting to teeter on downright obsession. If a TV show could file a restraining order, I would be in jail by now.


Bazinga!
(except not...)

Because It's Just So Awesome...

Alt text: "Yes, there are a lot of longing looks across the bridge of Galactica first. But that's not the point!"

Hotel Pools: The Answer

A friend of mine once deeply mused: "Hotel Pools: Why?"





The answer is simple: so that residents of the neighboring area deeply desiring a dip can subtly pretend to be guests at the city's most luxurious hotel; and therefore swim in their pool, lie in their luxurious canopied pillow-tents, and pick up complimentary towels on the way out.









Now if only the spa had been open...

Don't Surround Yourself with Yourself

I check on the carrots. My improvised recipie seems to be working out, or at least isn't a total failure just yet. I rarely put this much effort into eating vegetables, but it's my friend's Pot Luck Birthday dinner and she wanted vegetarian. I go back to my room to change: a nice, ruffled skirt and slightly heeled boots. The stylish, yet casual kind that leave only my knees revealed above their frumpy, layered tops. I wouldn't have been interested in boots like this a year ago, but there's something about them that's grown on me. I return to the kitchen to finish up the card, and finally transfer the carrots to a piece of tupperware.

Arriving at the party- a small gathering of a dozen or so women in my other friend's appartment- a surprisingly thoughtful guest offers to take my purse and jacket. I pour myself some wine, wish my friend a happy birthday, and then take my pick of small conversation circles. Visitors introduce themselves. People discuss the food they brought and where the recipies come from. A friend of mine sagely informs me that, apparently, you can't go wrong with lemon in a group full of women. The warm, ambient jazz music gives the evening a very classic feel as the conversations start to shift over to work. Several of my friends have snazzy UN and NGO internships and it's always interesting to hear about what they've been up to, especially with many large conferences coming up. I can't say anything too impressive, or even remotely similar, about my own work at the moment, and I start wonder if I'm missing out on this entire second life that they seem to have developed. The conversation takes a lighter turn towards office gossip, and I am again struck by how easily my friends seem to have integrated themselves into these novel social networks dominated by the 25-35 crowd. One girl even got hit on by a diplomat.

The clink of the hostess's glass pulls our attention towards the buffet, and we meander over in cliques to get our food. Before eating, the hostess toasts the Birthday Girl, who inturn makes a surprisingly refelctive toast as she thanks us all for coming. Another toast is proposed to the friend who prepared the main course, though she quickly brushes off the attention as we all turn our attentions to our plates. At the end of the meal, more surprisingly helpful guests offer to help the hostess with the dishes while others lay out dessert. We sing happy birthday. In a rush to get a drink of water I temporarily forget that you can't chug champagne, and the burn sends a slight shiver down my spine. After the cake is done we sit around for awhile and chat until the first small group has to leave, starting the inevitable domino effect of goodbyes. It's about nine o'clock. I thank the hostess and tell her I had a nice time. Which I did, though this might have surprised me a year ago. Two of my friends go back to another's appartment for a night cap while I head out alone to pick something up that I had been meaning to print.

I feel old.

The air is pleasantly brisk for Geneva. As a tram speeds by me, the city seems more dynamic and exciting than it usually would, especially on a Sunday evening. As if the night had something in store for me that I had not yet witnessed and could not possibly imagine. And for a brief second I am not walking in the city, but I am the city. A respectable, invisible figure in the background just going about their daily business. Walking quickly and determindly, slightly hunched over, and clutching a large bag.

Was It Over When The Germans Bombed Pearl Harbor?

Truth be told, being abroad has made me pretty home-sick for the college scene back at home. I seem to be compensating for this by (a) investing in awesome related apparel, and (b) marathoning feel-good college movies. Films that remind us of what college should, and could, be if we only stopped worrying about the future and enjoyed the liberties of the present.

This of course, brought me back to Animal House. The first time I saw this movie, I honestly forgot most of it and didn't really see the point. The plot seemed to have no continuity whatsoever, and I wasn't paying well enough attention to pick up on some of the more subtle humor in the flim (this tends to happen to me when 50% of the characters look exactly alike- I'm kind of peopleblind like that). And it's true, the plot does go on a bit, and unless you're familiar with campus ROTC you will be entirely lost at some points. But on a second go around (and also having been in college for more than a month) I have to say this film truly earns its title as a classic. Despite taking place fifty years ago, it details timeless elements of the college experience that I have yet to see in any modern imitation. (Yes, I have heard of professors inviting students back to their place to get high, and of course, witnessed a group of dudes head to a women's college on an obviously shitty excuse hoping to get laid.)

I also feel the need to point out, given the conservative and classy 1960's backdrop, the absolute least expected scene in any movie ever made:

Oh, and I still contend that the Register Girl is clearly missing a tit.

I Clearly Have an Unhealthy Obsession with T-Shirts

When I was in middle school- it was very important to not only be a "punk," but to definitley not be a "poser punk." See, anyone could start a loud rock band to complain about mainstream culture, or wear baggy black pants and die their hair green, but this wasn't enough. Oh no, you had to be authentically unorthodox and somehow oppressed. Stealing from Hot Topic was OK- but actually spending money there? Totally supporting the Man. And if you initially fooled people into thinking you were legit, only to then be discovered and derailed (like Good Charlotte and Avril Levgine) well, god help you.

As years went by, the concept of authenticity slowly became less and less important- Until today. You see, the other day, I saw this really awesome T-shirt:




The problem? I get the joke, but I am by no means a trekkie. OK, so my friends are, and I have very much enjoyed the occassional marathon. Is Spock's eternal struggle between logic and human feelings the story of my life? Sure, whose isn't. Is Seven of Nine both hillarious and bangable? Totally. Is the Borg an interesting metaphor for Cold War communism? Absolutely. Are the retro 1960's episodes worth watching for the props and costumes alone? Yes. But that's pretty much where I draw my line of Star Trek fandom. You won't see me LLnP'ing anytime soon. I can't distinguish Enterprise from NextGen, or even name more than five characters. Wearing this shirt is easily the geek dude equivalent of me stuffing my bra- it's flat out false advertising.

But there is another option: If I can afford it (after Caprica, and Breaking Bad, which I now have to buy per-episode if I want to watch abroad) I will at least make a small effort to earn this T-shirt. I will accept the turn my life has arguably taken already, and become an at least marginallly informed Star Trek viewer. And if this turns out to be too time consuming and expensive, well, it's an awesome shirt, so just deal. Resistance is futile.