Of Past and Papacy

Scene 1
 
It is a little bit past eight in the morning. I am lying in bed, emerging from sleep. ROOMMATE is up and dressed and checking her phone.
 
ME: *shows signs of awakeness*
ROOMMATE: The Pope resigned!
ME: Wow.
ROOMMATE: It’s like the first time in 600 years that this has happened.
ME: That’s crazy.
ROOMMATE: *leaves room*
ME: *goes back to sleep*
 
Scene 2
 
It is now exactly 8:45. My alarm has just gone off, and I must begin my hectic day.
 
ME: I do not wish to leave my bed.
ME: I think I had really a weird dream.
ME: Yeah. Roommate told me that the Pope resigned.
ME: That never happens.
ME: My brain comes up with the weirdest #$%& sometimes.
 
Scene 3
 
It is lunchtime. After a busy morning, I am sitting down to a vaguely disappointing salad and checking my Facebook. As one does.
 
ME: Look, Roommate posted a link to a NYT article.
ME: The Pope resigned?!

-end-

 
So apparently the resignation of the Pope was not a fabrication of my subconscious mind, though it says something about my imagination that I would think it was. I have a minor interest in the papacy because of its longevity and its impact on, you know, the entire world. (The list of things in which I have a minor interest would probably come to several hundred entries including folk songs, monotremes, Russia, and the poetry of Edgar Allan Poe.) So this news is the sort that makes me very aware of existing in history.
 
Something I’ve been thinking about a lot recently is how all events are critical events and all eras are eras of change. I’m deeply suspicious of periods labeled with words like “stable” and “placid” and “Pax” because I can’t imagine an unchanging time or place. I once read some fiction-writing guidelines that advised a dynamic setting. Stories=change, and so this makes perfect sense. But what setting isn’t changing? It’s a mistake to think that humans anywhere at any time have achieved some sort of mystical equilibrium. I’m a person, I know many, and I know what we’re like. We are forces of change.

 

Forces of change.

 
But we are also wildly irrational. We’re frightened by the world of change we inhabit; we’re scared of our own hurtling dynamism. We’re too small to understand how we produce the incredible insanity that is the past. What I love about history is that it makes something immense (a story that is millennia long) out of something very tiny (the human lifetime). I can’t know what 600 years is like, but I can stand in awe of it. History accesses the human capacity for wonder.
 
What I hate about history is that you can’t work with it until it has inched its way into the part of the past beyond memory. You can’t get a really good look at something until it’s far away, but by then you’ve lost a vital connection to it. The consequences of Benedict XVI’s actions will be analyzed by my great-grandchildren after I’m dead (presuming that they come to love history and also acquire a minor interest in the papacy*).
 
Days like these make me feel like I’m living in crazy times. My rational mind was right to assume that the Pope doesn’t simply resign. It hasn’t happened since 1415. (Way to go, rational mind! You’re awesome.) But they also remind me that no one and nothing is safe from change. All times are crazy times, and history is something we make, not something that happens.
 
--Bridget
 
*If you happen to be reading this, great-grandchildren, I hope that you love history. It’s amazing. I’m a part of it, and so are you. And so is this blog, apparently, which worries me ever so slightly.

Ain't Nobody Got Time for That

A friend and I auditioned for the same student dance group on Sunday. We went to dinner afterwards and started talking about the college balancing act: what classes to take, how many to take, which groups to perform with, how many pieces to dance in, if we should add any other activities to the read/write/dance/sleep cycle we’d had since high school. My friend had withdrawn from sorority recruitment and was considering dropping a class. 
 
“I just want time,” she said.
 
I agreed. I want time more than just about anything else. My worst days tend to originate from overload: my lack of time to do the things that will make me a fulfilled and stable person.
 
I want time to submerge myself in my classes. There’s no way that I can read everything I’m supposed to, but I know that I’ll have a more meaningful education (and thusly a more meaningful life) the more I read. The discussion section I dread will become easier the more I sit myself in a chair and prepare for it. My essays will be stellar if I think through my ideas with care.
 
I want time to correspond. My resolve this year is to be better about communicating with the people I want in my life. The separation of first semester was rough, and I felt distant from the friends I had made in high school. But over winter break, I remembered that my friendships were strong, and I decided to keep them firmly in sight. That means I need to type emails, handwrite letters and cards, arrange Skype dates, respond to texts.
 
I want time to explore and to be spontaneous. I live in an amazing city—I told my mother yesterday that New York is just “more.” Cultural institutions abound, and many are incredibly accessible to me. If only I could get my act together and actually go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art or see Paul Taylor Dance Company. If I spot a poster for a cool lecture or performance on campus, I want to be able to drop everything and go.
 
I want time to deal.  Some days I find myself facing the ceiling and saying, “I can’t deal with this right now.” I sift through the contents of my desk and half of it falls on the floor, but I know other tasks take precedence over cleaning and organizing. I see an email that requires my immediate attention, which is already split between two other tasks and tomorrow’s to-do list. Frustration and procrastination result.
 
I want time to be a woman of leisure. I want to read excellent non-academic books and watch awesome television shows and write recreationally. I want to decorate my room and wear interesting outfits. I want to listen to new songs and fall in love with new artists. I want to read the news so I have a clue about what’s happening outside the bubble of my university.
 
Often I feel like I am supposed to do everything and to be able to do everything. I’m not sure why this is, and I don’t think now is the time to pseudo-psychoanalyze myself. But it is certainly pertinent to say that I cannot do everything I want to do and that I will hurt myself if I try.
 
This is a pretty somber post... I think I meant for it to be funnier? That didn’t happen! Next time I’ll write about awkward elevator experiences or attractive foreign celebrities or something.
 
--Bridget

The Quest For Camelot Begins: A Foray Into Merlin

I watched the first episode of Merlin when it premiered and was...not impressed. Many people have recommended it to me/told me it's something I would enjoy, but I have...remained dubious. One of my good friends here at school is a huge Merlin fan, and throughout our acquaintance I have consequently been subjected to much enthusing over the show as it progressed through its final season. I grinned over the cute Merther (the Merlin/Arthur ship) gifs she showed me on Tumblr--watched with a bemused expression as she and another friend of ours freaked out over the series finale, whispering in case any of the rest of us ever wanted to watch the show from the beginning--celebrated alongside her as Merther became canon.

My former snootiness over the...questionable quality...of the show has diminished, and I decided to give it a second shot. So, I watched the first two episodes tonight while completing my Linguistics homework. I've decided to blog my way through the series, because I have Thoughts and because I think it will be fun. And make me stick with it, in case, you know, I end up not being that impressed with it after all.

Well, here we go: Season 1, Episodes 1 & 2.

If for no other reason, I would probably stick with the show because boy, are Colin Morgan (Merlin) and Bradley James (Arthur) attractive. And they have accents. Never underestimate the swoon factor of a  British accent. At one point in the first episode Merlin got wounded, and his Mentor set about healing said wounds.

MERLIN'S MENTOR: Take your shirt off.

ME: Yes, please do that.

I can certainly see why people ship them, and why people fawn over them in general. I admit that going into this I am predisposed to ship Merther, having soaked up my friend's enthusiasm, though I probably would have ended up shipping them anyway. There were several moments within the first two episodes where I wanted to yell at the screen "YOU ARE ADORABLE. KISS. KISS NOW". Knowing going in that there is ample support for a Merther relationship, I will doubtless be picking up on those lines/looks/hints more than I normally would have. I certainly did in the first two episodes (in any case it's not that subtle. The Dragon is a Merther fan, I can tell. He's very vocal about it. But I'll get to him in a moment). If I wasn't going to ship Merther, I would probably ship Gwen/Merlin. Though who knows. Within these episodes, there was a lot of sexual tension. This included sexual tension between:

• Morgana/Arthur
• Morgana/Merlin
• Merlin/Arthur
• Gwen/Merlin

I'll just leave that with it's excessive love-triangle potential where it is. 

Also, continuing with my oh-so-scholarly thoughts on characters, I was pleasantly surprised to see that Gwen is black. I leave you with Sarah Rees Brennan's thoughts. 

Moving on to plot-y things! 

The villain of the first episode is a Creepy Old Woman, and, you know, I really really dislike Creepy Old Women. For whatever reason, I find them terrifying. Give me a CGI monster--I cringe and announce how much I Do Not Like This. Give me suspenseful music and unsettling shadows--I squirm and curl up in my chair and am spooked. But give me Creepy Old Women--I was sitting watching those parts of the episode in utter terror. I jumped, literally almost out of my chair, when a door slammed down the hall. There were shivers and skin-prickliness all up and down my back. My only hypotheses on the subject is that it stems from growing up with The Princess Bride. I remember that the old woman in the crowd in Buttercup's dream terrified me when I was little. She doesn't anymore, but maybe that fostered in me some far-reaching fear of malevolent elderly women? 

Creepy Old Woman from The Princess Bride 

Infinitely Creepier Old Woman from Merlin

The other plot-y thing I wanted to make note of, and which is a much longer-term plot element than the villain of one episode (however much it might scar me) is the Dragon. The Dragon was one of the reasons I stopped watching originally. There were many Cliched-Lines and Cliched-Themes in those scenes and I wanted to bang my head against the coffee table. The Dragon likes to make cryptic comments about the future. I will hereafter refer to him as the Dragon of Destiny.

Merlin finds the Dragon of Destiny in a cave under the castle (I sense there are problems involved with keeping a secret dragon under your castle. The show does not choose to dwell on such problems. Such as the fact that Merlin was quite easily able to find the dragon under the castle). The Dragon of Destiny seems to have some kind of telepathic link into Merlin's brain, as throughout the first episode you hear an ominous voice caaaallllliiiiinnng to Merlin in his mind. The episode is, in fact, titled "The Call of the Dragon". I'm guessing he's an important character.

The Dragon of Destiny, Merther fan that he is, makes vague, mysterious, not-at-all-foreshadow-y and assertive comments about Merlin's destiny, and the fact that it is his destiny to be with Arthur. That is his only preferred subject of conversation. Who knows, maybe someone else will stumble upon the not-so-secret dragon and he will make generic, grand-sounding comments all about their future love life destiny! I've got my eye on you, Dragon of Destiny.

Merlin receives love advice from the Dragon of Destiny

The teaser for Episode 3 looks quite intense (as they always do), and seems to feature Gwen more. I believe she was in peril. Oh, lady characters, why do you always have to be in peril when you're heading an episode? We shall see what happens.

--Flannery

The Paradox of Pain

I write this with a gutted feeling in the center of my chest, after just finishing Fables Volume 18 ("Fables: Cubs in Toyland").

There are some plots--in TV, books, movies, etc--that are are predictable. This does not mean that they're bad. Sometimes, especially when I've had an exhausting day, all I want is something straightforward and simple, something that won't make my brain or heart hurt. And I'll freely admit: I love Downton Abbey to the bottom of my heart, and boy does it ever make my heart hurt, but it is not exactly subtle. I can usually see the hurt coming from a mile off and attempt to build whatever hasty fortifications I can. Do they work? Not really. And I'm not criticizing it for the fact that I can (sometimes) anticipate events--I'm just pointing out the fact.

However, while predictable plot lines aren't bad, and can be quite engaging, and moving, and surprising, and powerful despite the fact, as with Downton Abbey, they never have quite the effect as things that take you really by surprise. And a lot of that surprise has to do with the suspense that comes from accepting the possibility of pain, from knowing that there are no limits that the creator isn't willing to cross.

There are some shows, books, movies, etc, that you know will never do anything drastic. You know the ones I mean. You can always tell--maybe you've read/seen other work by that creator and know what you're in for, maybe throughout the work there are opportunities to take it to the next level and it doesn't go there, maybe it's just a feeling you foster, throughout the experience, based on writing style or the choices the creator makes. However you arrived at the knowledge, you know that nothing truly bad will ever happen to the main characters. Nobody "important" will ever die, all of the scrapes and dangerous situations will be escaped from, there will inevitably be a happy ending in which everything has been worked out and everyone is settled with their Romantic Interest. And again, I'm not saying that happy endings are bad things. But when you know that it's coming, it makes the journey of getting there a whole lot less impactful.

The stunning ones, the ones that live in your bones, are the ones that rip your heart out. Maybe early on they kill off a character unexpectedly, or take the story where you never thought they would. They do something heart-wrenching, something mind-blowing, that you never thought they would dare to do. Because not many stories dare to be daring. Generally, people like happy endings, like knowing that the people they are reading about/watching are safe, and producers and publishers like people being happy (they're the ones that will keep spending money). Deus ex machina is the beloved of the audience, for its presence ensures and reassures that the creators are not willing to do anything truly injurious to the characters, and thus will not do anything injurious to them, ever. But the daring ones take away the safety net of predictability. By demonstrating that they are willing to take that leap past the point of no return, they establish the pervasive, ever-hovering threat that they will do so again. They obliterate the limits of expected story lines, and that is a scary thing for audiences. It indicates that they are serious. That they have no qualms about doing the unimaginable. In this they create the suspense that is the hated and adored of all fans.

Just knowing that something irreparable can happen, because it's already been done once and what's to stop them from doing it again?, makes the thing so much more alive. Every emotion is heightened during the experience--every cliffhanger more frightening and every hint more meaningful. It is an exhausting state to be in, a horrible state, a state of constant tension and paranoia. It is a wonderful state. You become so much more attached to the characters, so much more invested in the story. The experience is that much sharper and that much more powerful. You soak everything up, all of the dialogue and the choices and the hilarity and the happiness, all of the dilemmas and the characters and the relationships between them. They become precious things, when if the unthinkable hadn't happened, they wouldn't be, not to the same extent. Because you never know. Everything is coated in a poignant layer of disquiet, all within the audience's mind.  

This is why I love it when books and TV shows make me cry, when I am left reeling and in pain for days. As much as I hate it when bad things happen to the characters I love, I love it when bad things happen to the characters I love.

A few of the stories imprinted on my heart because of their proficiency in this torture :

• Fables, a graphic novel series by Bill Willingham and Mark Buckingham. This is one of the most striking things I've ever read, because 1) the story line is incredibly original, complex, and continuously surprising and nuanced, 2) the artwork is astoundingly beautiful, and adds a whole other layer to the plot and to the reading experience, and 3) it breaks my heart with every volume. 
• Primeval, a British TV show that finished airing in 2011 (though all of it is on Netflix Instant Watch and I'm sure various other internet-places). The season finale of Season One is the episode that changes it all, and from then on the punches just keep coming. There is no reprieve. Amazingly disregarding of customary narrative conventions. You learn quickly not to get too comfortable with the state of things. It has great characters and relationships, and is very, very funny when it's not throwing you for a loop.
• Fringe, an American TV show which just aired it's series finale on Fox a few weeks ago. Shockingly inventive, and yet somehow believable from the beginning, I can't remember exactly when you realize that this show does what it wants. The plot arcs are incredibly complicated and complex, everything building on and off of everything else to create a layered web that you don't even really notice the depth, and genius of, until you start exploring it. It has some of the best characters and character depictions I've ever seen. The kind of show that is truly willing to do anything. Anything. No matter what kind of pain it inflicts on the viewers in doing so.
• Unspoken, by Sarah Rees Brennan. Arguably all of her other books too (particularly The Demon's Lexicon series), which are just as powerful and suspenseful and heart wrenching, though less notably so than in this one. The full extent to which the author will go is not evident until the very last pages ("She can't," you think while reading. "Sarah Rees Brennan won't. She just won't." And then she does, and the book becomes that much more intricate and emotional, and you realize that you never really expected her to in the first place, because what she does is downright cruel to her readers). Her fans constantly complain about what she does to them in this book, and she takes great pride in her reputation as a heartbreaker.
• Doctor Who, a longstanding British TV show which is wonderful for many reasons, and which I am including here because when my friends and I watched the finale of the latest season (Season 7, episode 5 of the current series), we cried not once but twice, the last time for a good twenty minutes because Things Happened and they were not Pleasing Things. I've watched intermittent episodes of previous seasons, all within the current series, and have cried multiple times, notably during the momentous episodes.  

There are many other books which possess this quality, and which I love very much, but the things listed above are the things which I hold most notably in my mind as examples of this. I could also give a list of shows and books which aren't daring in this way, and which I still adore. Though this is one of the features of stories that I appreciate the most while reading/watching, and which I think can change the whole tone, depth, and impact of them, it itself is not an exclusive indicator of a good story.  

There are many of those which do not cause intense emotional distress. 

--Flannery   

Book People

...Or, A Post In Which Flannery Carries On About Jane Austen, A Quest For The Time Machine, And Questions Concerning Her Future.

(Disclaimer: I am the one who is not concise. It is one of many traits my pseudosister possesses that I sometimes wish I could steal. I make my apologies now.)

I have been having a lot of feelings about books lately. Not in a "I just finished this awesome novel, allow me to fangirl for a while" way (though admittedly that happens a lot), but in a "I want to be involved in the literary world, look at these awesome things, and the awesome things people are saying--let me join in" way.

In addition to being a Pseudosister, I'm an administrator for the Jane Austen page on the Fandom blog. Today, Dear Readers, was the 200th anniversary of the publication of Pride and Prejudice. I will not allow this to devolve into a P&P-appreciation post, but suffice it to say that that novel is very near and dear to my heart, as is Jane Austen and her works in general (am I staying up far later than I should considering I have class tomorrow morning watching my collection of adaptations on my laptop? Did my friend and I spend a good five minutes making incomprehensible noises and dancing around the hallway after we watched today's Lizzie Bennet Diaries episode? ...Maybe. Maybe). And I spent most of my day between classes and chorus and eating and other important things like that scouring the internet for links and dates for my "200th anniversary" post.

What struck me was not only that there was stuff about it everywhere--in newspapers, on blogs, in museums, in ads, in recently-released books--but that everyone was still talking about it in the first place. 200 years is a long time. It's a testament to Austen's skill as a writer and the universal themes of her story that after all this time people are still as enamored of it as they were in 1813. It's never been out of print! There have been 20 million copies sold worldwide! So many movie adaptations, and book adaptations, and books and art and other things inspired by this novel; people regularly dress up in period costume and hold events like those of the Regency era; there is merchandise and fan fiction and I don't even know what else. (This is starting to turn into a litany of Jane Austen Enthusiasm, isn't it? ...Heh.) The devotion of the fans is incredible (and if there's one thing the internet has taught us, it's not to underestimate the emotions of a fan). It has been debated and analyzed in all kinds of academic settings and scholarly discussions.

And the awesome thing is that the same can be said about any number of literary works. So many books continue to inspire and encourage people, providing enjoyment and prompting wide varieties of conversations, despite their age. This is what I love.

As someone who grew up in a household full of books (literally full of. We're almost at 19,000 and counting, and no, I am not making that up), and was taught to understand and enjoy both the overreaching and personal importance of them (basically what I'm saying is that I was born and raised a nerd), I love that people are so eager and willing to express their feelings about a novel, be they positive or negative, and that these feelings are getting so much widespread attention in today's society. I love that people are talking about books, in, at least from what I saw, a civilized manner. There were no personal attacks in the comments, no blind promotion or hatred, but rather explained, respectful opinions.

I know that the kind of comments I just described are not necessarily normal (oh how I wish!)--I need only to go watch a music video on YouTube to see the truth in that. But this brings me to the core of this post, to the feelings that prompted this post in the first place. I can't help but feel that book people are good people. That statement is pretty naive and generalized, I know, but...seeing people be happy together over books makes me happy. I can't help but think well of someone who can have a logical discussion on the merits or lack-thereof of a novel, or who can happily devote the time to writing an article about a book or character or adaptation, etc, or who gets so attached to a piece of writing that they spiral into incomprehensible noises and dances in hallways. Hey, I'm a nerd. It's what I do.

It's not just today, though, with the Austen post. Whenever I have an English class I try to buy the books at one of the fabulous independent bookstores in town rather than from the campus bookstore. For my sci-fi/fantasy class I needed a good long list of them, and so into the first indie I went. As the clerk was looking up the titles, we got into a conversation, started by the fact that they didn't have a copy of The Time Machine and that that was actually the one I needed first. He kept telling me that they could order it, but that wasn't really the point.
"It's fine that you don't have it, I just wanted to see if any of the local stores had the books I needed before getting them from school," I told him.
It was like a magic key. We began talking in earnest, with him saying several times how appreciative he and his fellow clerk (I have a feeling they were the owners) were for my going to indies, and he went on a bit of a mini-rant about universities and their ways of tricking students (this post isn't a plug for independent bookstores, I promise, though really. Think about it.). The clerks asked what course the books were for, what professor I had, and I told them. They happily exclaimed that the professor shops there often!
"Oh, I know we have this one in stock, my fellow clerk loves it! Your professor probably got this recommendation from her!"
I bought what books I could and placed and order for the rest, and as I was paying the clerk said, laughing, "This is a long list! I'll tell [your professor] to go easy on you guys next time he's here!"
I left filled with a renewed love for and pride in book people. It's this kind of relationship, this camaraderie, that I adore. It was a short, pretty impersonal conversation. And yet there was kinship, based on the mere shared love of books and the recognition of that love in the other person.

(As I read over this, I want to add that in a sense I'm talking about nerds as well as book people--there's the same feeling of connection about all sorts of things people are passionate about, be it Doctor Who or Jane Austen or what have you. This wonderful quote from John Green, which I have immortalized on a poster on my wall, encompasses the emotion and bond I'm trying to relate: "Nerds like us are allowed to be unironically enthusiastic about stuff. Nerds are allowed to love stuff--like, jump-up-and-down-in-your-chair-can't-control-yourself love it. When people call people nerds, mostly what they're saying is "You like stuff," which is not a good insult at all. Like, "You are too enthusiastic about the miracle of human consciousness.")

It happened again in the next store I went into (still on my quest for a copy of The Time Machine). The person behind the desk was one I was familiar with, the woman who headed the Young Adult section there and who I had bonded with in a similar way, as I just had with the other clerks, on previous occasions, when I had gone in to buy new releases of things and we ended up trading book recommendations for a good ten minutes. She told me that they were out of The Time Machine, and then--
"I love your pin!" gesturing to the "YA Saves" pin I have on my coat.
I beamed, thanked her, and left. It's rare that people know what my pin means--the only other time someone has commented on it (apart from giving it confused looks/ignoring it/cautiously asking me about it) was in fact in the only independent bookstore near my hometown, when the clerk said "I love your pin! Mine's at home!". I felt again that kinship, that sense of "You're a part of my world and I'm a part of yours, and I acknowledge and appreciate that fact".

I love being a book person, being a part of that world. And I guess I'm getting around to the other part of my post. I want to spend my life being in that world, I want to be allowed to do that for a job. People always say to do what you love, and...that's it. Writing, of course, is part of it--I will never stop dreaming of becoming a published author--but apart from that, which I can not see going over very well with the parents when I graduate college ("Guess what! I'm not going to get a job with an immediate income! I'm going to spend all my time writing novels and trying to get them published!"), I want to do something with literature. Whenever I have encounters like the ones I did in the bookstores, as well as when I simply read an article about issues in publishing and the YA world or current YA trends or the problems with the portrayal of certain YA trends, I get such an intense feeling of "when can I do this?". I want to talk about these things. I want to write about these things. I have more intense feelings and opinions about these things than I do about many others. The problem...is that I don't actually know what I want to do. 

I have been somewhat apprehensive lately about the fact that I really have no idea what actual job I want to do after I graduate, or even what I want to major in. As a first-year college student, I know that it's okay not to know that yet, but I can't help but feel that way when literally almost everyone I talk to, first-years included, has a plan for their college education at least and in some cases for their future careers. I can't say how reassuring it was to be in my Introduction to Comparative Literature class this afternoon, where everyone but one is a first-year, and have virtually every single person admit to not knowing what they want to study.

Whatever I end up studying--English? Comp Lit? History? Anthropology? American Studies? So many possibilities...--I know where I want to end up. The specifics of that (publishing? Translation work? Publishing?) may be a little less clear, but I know where I want to end up, in a vague, indefinite sense. And I know that even while I'm figuring it out, even once I have figured it out, I will always be a Book Person. And I take comfort in that.

--Flannery

(P.S. I wanted to share some of the Jane Austen pieces that made me especially happy and proud to be a Book Person, such as Huffington Post's debating articles on who the best Mr. Darcy is in the movie adaptations--the comments are lovely--and Sarah Rees Brennan's insightful discussion on sexism in the literary world.)

It's Too Darn Cold

Many important things have happened to me in the past week. I returned to the city, started my second semester at college, watched the first half of the six-hour BBC Pride & Prejudice…. All very significant life events. But the dominating feature of this truly remarkable week was the bitter, bitter cold. It’s Jotunheim. It’s Hoth. It’s the Third Circle of Dante’s Inferno*.

It’s too darn cold.

 
When I venture out of doors, the air assaults every exposed inch of my skin. The chill seeps into my clothes. My fingers burn, my legs tingle, my face suffers paralysis. I’m adopting a new platform, people: when pants lose their effectiveness, they are no longer worthy of being called pants. What I’d call them instead, I’m not sure. But I would make my disappointment known!

I’m certainly wimpy when it comes to the cold, but this is getting ridiculous. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that it is making my fashion choices ridiculous. I wrapped a scarf around my head before leaving for the bookstore on Wednesday night and had no regrets. I tried to look decently stylish for the first week of classes, but it eventually came down to not taking off my coat and scarf (around my neck like a normal person would have it) in most of them.

Fortunately I received a semi-stylish coat from Santa this year. And the scarf makes me look like Sherlock. Well, I’m a short eighteen-year-old girl; it would take a lot more to make me look like Sherlock. But it makes me feel like Sherlock.

 
DOWNSIDE TO COLD WEATHER: Pain, misery, anguish. Pants rendered ineffective.
UPSIDE TO COLD WEATHER: Sometimes I feel like Sherlock?

I cannot take this much longer.

-Bridget

 

*And the quantity of brownie-substance I consumed today would indicate that I belong there.

New Year, New Blog

This is it, people. This is the year we blog.
 
Here’s to reading books, writing stories, watching movies and television, lurking around the internet, being fantastic college students, and providing a running commentary on life. Because what is life if not source material for a running commentary? IT IS BUT A WALKING SHADOW, A POOR PLAYER THAT STRUTS AND FRETS HIS HOUR ACROSS THE STAGE AND THEN IS HEARD NO MORE.

We’re just doing our part to make meaning of the universe.