Learning to Chew

Whenever I tell people I'm studying to be a chemist, they seem to immediately assume (as one british woman recently put it) that I "must be very clever!" I, on the other hand, have some serious doubts.

For starters, is science really more "intelligence demanding" than the humanities? This is a tricky and debatable subject so feel free to disagree. But by my own personal definition of intelligence though, it kind of is. Intelligence is technically defined as "capacity...for mental activity" which seems about right. Personally though, I think of true intelligence as creativity within boundaries. If you have a blank piece of paper you can do anything too, then well, anything can do anything to it and it's not all that special. If you have to figure out a way, say, to turn that paper into something specific while working within a variety of limitations, then that clearly takes a lot more thought and cleverness. The reason a lot of people think that art is easier than science, is probably because (technical drawing and rendering skills aside) progress art is all about creativity, and progress in science is all about creativity within an ever increasing number of limitations (AKA Problem Solving). It's also very common to find someone who is good at humanities but bad at math, but (in my experience) much rarer to find someone who is the other way round. But rarer doesn't always mean better, so please, feel free to prove me wrong. Of course I'm going to propagate the idea that science=smarts, because I'm a science student, and this is very flattering to my ego. Besides, Being good at studying something is can be very different than being good at doing it.

But asides aside, back to my nagging personal insecurities. Intellectually, I've always found myself in kind of an awkward middle ground, and I never know how smart I should consider myself to be. My SAT scores were good but not perfect. Sometimes I was in the top 10% of my highschool class, sometimes I struggled for hours to get a B-. People think I'm smart because I'm a science student in a nice college, but my grades are mediocre and my college is no MIT. My highschool English teachers thought I was brilliant, but my PreCalc teacher practically had to feed me answers on a regular basis. In middle school I once developed a math formula for checking answers that my teacher had never heard of, and one day she even asked me to go over HW infront of the class for her when she had to leave abruptly; but I often have the memory of a goldfish and need to study for really long periods of time. My highschool class voted me "most intelligent girl," but nowadays I am a dark horse wannabe doctoral candidate if there ever was one. After two semesters of "biting off more than I could chew" one thing is clear: I'm going to need to learn how to chew more.

Personally I think grades are mostly based on how a course is graded, and have little to do with the actual material of the course. My teachers always tell me that I'm very smart and blame any inconsistency between my supposed intelligence and my grades on lack of organizational skills and effort. But I often wonder if they're just confusing intelligence with the ability to express myself well, learn from a book instead of a teacher, and act with confidence (which is sometimes pulled out of my ass), instead of panicking and demanding immediate babying. Maybe I'm just good at acting smart?

Well, we may soon actually find out. The more time I spend studying chemistry, the more I find that a) almost everything I like about chemistry involves physics, b) I like a lot of things about physics too, and c) Both chemistry and physics are based on a lot of math. The obvious course of action then, is to take more classes in math and physics. Which is what I'll be doing. All at once. And (hopefully!) in an Ivy League University. If there was ever a time that I could admit to feeling "math anxiety" this is probably it.

Oh, and If I fuck this up, then I might as well forget about gradschool. Let's hope that'll get me to class on time.

Confessions

This is probably a little personal for a blog post, but I'm intrigued to see what other people think about it.

Once upon a time, when I was about 12 or so, I was having a conversation with a friend's mom and a little voice in the back of my head wondered "What would happen if I just randomly punched her in the face?" I had absolutely no desire or reason to do this, but for some reason at that moment the thought and its likely uber awkward aftermath just strongly occured to me.

Though these kinds of random and inexplicable thoughts don't plague me too often (or at least didn't for the longest time) I'm slowly coming to learn that I was actually pretty lucky back then. You see, when I was growing up, I was pretty (perhaps too much, even) assured in myself and my actions. Save a few rare exceptions, I was always more or less in control of everything that went through my mind and how I reacted to it, and it was all pretty logical. Furthermore, If I wanted to do something, I did it, and external forces were usually the only problems I had to overcome. Unlike many other people my age, I was never hindered by major insecurities about body image, 'fitting in,' eating disorders, sexuality (though that did come later), or a whole host of other things that probably contributed to making some people I knew at the time legitimatley suicidal.

But back to the 12 year-old punching anecdote. Sometimes I wonder what would have happen had I actually told a psychiatrist about this. Would they have been concerned? Would I have found myself in years of therapy when really I still would have been perfectly healthy otherwise? If everyone was put on a shrink's couch long enough, and forced to recount every single intimate thought that had ever occurred to them, would anyone be normal?

I doubt it. The more people I talk to about the past, the more I learn about the problems I never knew they were dealing with. Furthermore, as I get older, and more self aware, and gain more life experiences, I am coming to terms with the fact that no one can really be in control of everything 100% of the time. Infact, there are a lot of parts about ourselves: what makes us laugh, what turns us on, the way we think, the random thoughts that occur to us, emotional reactions, sometimes even just the mood we're in, that we really have no control over. Correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems like it's just simply a part of the human condition.

When I was in highschool, I developed a mild tendency towards anxiety and hypochondria (for both physical and mental illnesses) that stays with me to this day. As much as I can calm myself and reassure myself that I'm being silly, It's still pretty annoying and causes me lots of stress for no reason. It's probably one of the first times I've ever had to say to myself "I really wish I wasn't like that" but really all I can do is accept it and try to deal with it as best I can. Twice in my life as well, I have been randomly, spontaneously repulsed by something entirely innocent that I would normally even like at any other moment in time. Weird, but true.

They say that the true key to happiness is to know yourself, accept yourself, and love yourself. Call me crazy, but I guess I never really knew what they meant until I realized that, oddly enough, 'yourself' isn't always as simple as what 'you' would like it to be.

...I wonder if Cavemen had to deal with this?

Notes From The Other Side

The other day the odometer on my car hit 11,111 miles. It was pretty cool. But that is not why I am blogging today. I am blogging because, like a few other peers of mine at this point, I have seen the other side, and I feel the need to report back. What other side? I am of course referring to the deep, dark, scary, mystery that is "life after graduation."

See, oddly enough, I ended up spending most of my junior year (and likely, it now seems, the summer following it) hanging out with a bunch of grad school dudes. I've been living in independently owned apartment complexes, doing my own grocery shopping and cooking, getting booze almost whenever I want, and generally getting a taste for life once "make your own class schedule" becomes more or less "9-5."

This is what you can expect:

1. While weekends will still remain the key time for mass alcohol consumption, lack of homework is also conducive to light drinking on a daily basis. Start early, crash around 12, and just don't be too hung over to go to work the next day. I especially recommend pub Quiz Nights.

2. While many envision the 9-5 workplace as a drab, soulless, cubicle-filled, grey abyss, it can also be a source for vast social networking and drama. Pick carefully.

3. Age is no longer really relevant. With labels like "freshman" and "sophomore" removed, and with differences between certain age groups following the logarithmic progression that they do (eg: the difference between a 15 year old and a 20 year old is tremendous, while the difference between a 20 year old and a 25 year old is very subtle) , I've started to consider anyone up until the age of 30 my peer. Though most of the time I find that 28 and 29 year olds can still be pretty fun, I do run across the occasional "hey, you remind me of my friend's dad when I was five!" That's just fricken weird.

4. Those hoping to escape the typical 9-5 for as long as possible have one clear option: grad school. While government and humanities students will likely get their share in internships, science students clearly have found the closest thing around to the fountain of youth. While most work 9-5 to get in the right amount of time, the people are chill, the hours are more or less flexible, and the lab has basically no dress code. (Lab safety, pshh...). It's not exactly the chic, sexy city job I always envisioned, but it's an option.

5. Believe it or not, dating gets harder, a lot harder. I'm not complaining, but it's hard to ignore the fact that almost every person I've met is either in a long-term serious relationship or (gasp!) married. (The exception being one guy who is probably asexual.) While I was always raised to believe that your 20s were for playing the field and being young and slutty, apparently I was deeply mistaken. Apparently if you haven't found them by the time you hit your mid 20's, good luck with that. Yesterday I met a couple who has been dating since they were 16. He is finishing up a 5-7 year Doctoral degree this year. I didn't know that was even physically possible....

Conclusion? I miss college. I mean having my own place is great, and not having homework or too much to really stress about is great, and the existence of my choice of frozen, pre-prepared meals is great (unlike in Switzerland, by the way), but I still really miss college. Namely being cooked for, and being able to drink as much as I want and not worry about driving, and sunlit, golden autumn leaves wafting over the long shadows of the old, red-brick buildings in the shape of a cozy quad.

Senior year, get ready, you will be rocked for all you are worth.

(Oh, And sorry about the blogging lull. I don't get internet at home so I'm trying to see how long I can go without caving and shelling out for it. )

The Chicken Truck

Way back when, OSK blogged in great detail about nostalgia. The feeling you get when you're going to miss a place even though you really didn't enjoy it all that much when you were there. While at the time he was blogging about France, I've started to have similar feelings about Switzerland.

After almost an entire year of "why the fuck did I do this," "I would have been so much better off in the US," and "God, the food/tram/people suck" (well not all the people obviously, but you get my jist); I think I've reached the point where I've finally fully accepted and assimilated to life here enough to enjoy it, even if it's not at all what I first had in mind. Like I always seem to get used to the freezing winter weather right before I'm about to step inside, I have realized, just in time, that come a month or two from now when I leave, I will miss Switzerland. I don't know whether this is genuine joy, pure nostalgia, or just not wanting to accept the fact that my might-have-been-epic year is over and I accomplished so shockingly little, but the fact remains. I guess it was always a love/hate relationship.

Oh, but I'll def miss my stoner roomates.



(Though I suppose I can always come back next year when OSK, apparently, will be in Europe all year long. Wow.)

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.

The Anti-Valentine's Day Antidote

Despite having little-to-no religious significance, Valentine's Day is arguably the most polarizing holiday on the planet. Either you are in a happy relationship and enjoying yourself, in an unhappy relationship and pretending to enjoy yourself while being surrounded by other, happier couples, or alone and having it rubbed in from every angle. There is no middle ground. I don't want to totally knock Valentine's day (being a fan of the color scheme and heart-shaped merchandise) but I did think I woud do my readers a favor and provide them with an "Anti-Valentine's Day Antidote" in case they get to feeling really gloomy.

Warning: do not click the following link unless you are actually miserable and alone. Improper use may lead to uncontrollable pessimism and dark thoughts surrounding your current relationship.


http://leloveimage.blogspot.com/


I found out about that blog through a friend of mine, and I couldn't help but read it regularly. At first, most of the stories were all happy, adorable tales of lovers finding each other despite extreme improbability and then going on to live insanely happy lives. But apparently (surprise surprise) these people did not represent a majority of the population (or at least not the majority of the population googling mushy shit on the internet- having probabaly already had their fill.) Over time, the written submissions became more and more deeply depressing. Now, they're mostly about sad rejections, the intense pain of seperation, and people just realizing out of the blue that they no longer love their spouse. Oh, and let's not forget the "he doesn't deserve me" post-breakup-girly-feel-good-crap. Honestly it could be written by middleschoolers. One might ask "If it's such a crappy blog, then why do you still read it, Juicy?" well, for starters I'm a creature of habit, never underestimate that. But more importantly, it's like rubbernecking on the highway, or self-help book titles. It's like a train wreck that you can't look away from. Again, I warn you, click with care.

So there you have it. If you're truly feeling misterable and missing-out on this heart-filled holiday season, then go, read, and realize that relationships aren't at all they're cracked up to be, and that they will probabaly ultimatley fail and result in nothing but stress, misery, and hardship. You can thank me later.

The Second Best Friend

I have recently had a tremendous epiphany: I am the Second Best Friend.

No really, one day when I was in elementary school, my friend said that I was her best friend and asked me if I was hers. I well-meaningly said no, you're my second best friend, and I have been suffering the karmic retribution ever since.

In pretty much every friendship I've had since then, I was always unfailingly, undoubedtly, and exactly number two. I often enjoyed Best Friend status because number one lived far away or went to a different school or something, but the fact remains. Now I don't want to sound like I'm complaining- oh no, number two is a highly honorable position. In fact, the differences that seperate the Best Friend from the Second Best Friend are infintesimally subtle, the kind that only the Second Best Friend could ever possibly notice, but they're still there. Even today, I've noticed that for every close friend I have, there is always one other person with whom I assume they are closer. This never bothered me, it was simply the status quo.

Come to think of it, I'm not sure if I've ever really had a Best Friend. OK, obviously I've had many in the basic sense, and I've had different friend groups for different things. But I don't think I've ever found one person who managed to encompass all of my bizarre and disjointed interests in a particultarly exciting and intruiging way. In short, I don't think I've ever shared the really outstandingly baller kind of Bestfrendship I've witnessed in some of the pairs I've met recently.


So, I've decided I'm on a quest. I'm now currently accepting applications for a mutually exclusive Bestfriendship. Anyone interested can contact me via the "comments" link below.

Interrobangin'

I turned 20 the other day so I figure blogging about it is pretty necessary. How do I feel? Well, I was having a great day until someone reminded me that, in ten years, I'll be thirty. Actually, I don't feel that old. I'm in age limbo. By teenager standards- yes, I'm grown up and therefore essentially dead to the world. But by adult standards, I can't possibly be any younger. Ultimately, they both kind of cancel each other out, leaving me with the mere shock that my age now starts with a 2. That's the wierd bit.



I recently learned about a new kind of punctuation that Word calls an "Interrobang." It looks like this:


I think that pretty much sums up twenty, in a nutshell.