My Holocaust class midterm essay question is:
Historians speak of a radicalization of antisemitism in National Socialist Germany from 1933 to 1938. Do you agree or disagree?
Um. Disagree. Entirely. Obviously the correct answer.
Basically I'm providing a summary of Nazi actions against Jews in this time period. Reads like a textbook and is very boring to write.
In other news, has anyone noticed the new widget in my sidebar, under my gorgeous picture? Click on the "Star-Studded Love" article to see a clip of George Clooney asking Regis about the ND- Syracuse game on the Oscars red carpet. He knew we were up at the half! Could I love this man any more? It's doubtful.
To close, a guilty confession: I haven't watched a single debate yet this presidential race. And I'm a polisci major.
From Wikipedia:
"Whenever the Pope flies on a plane, it is nicknamed "Shepherd One". Typically, it is a chartered Alitalia Jet, however, the nickname follows the Pope to smaller craft when necessary to land at small airports. The tradition is for the Pope to fly to the country he is visiting on a chartered Alitalia jet and to return on a jet belonging to a flag carrier from the visited nation."
The Monologues are back on campus, so the bishops walk. Read the article here. Not quite sure how I feel about this; border skirmishes between Catholic clergy and the academic (and theoretically impartial) nature of this university happen all the time, over things like what professors are hired (are they Catholic enough?) and whether birth control meds can be offered at our on-campus pharmacy. It all works out in the end, after everyone ruffles their feathers and we all go back to our corners of the ring and sulk. My inclination in this case is to be exasperated with the bishops, but that's more gut reaction than researched opinion. Bishop Darcy posting things in our basilica (technically in his domain) seems a little silly. I tend to roll my eyes at the whole business and move on to more important matters.
Such as the weather. Lately, the in-vogue trend in South Bend has been lots of melting and rainstorms, causing our number of on campus lakes to increase from 2 to 200, then sudden freezing temperatures creating inches of ice everywhere. Walking on ice all the time to get to class is only slightly less bothersome than getting soaked, despite wearing a raincoat, going to class. When you get to class, you might have a numb arm from falling and cracking your head on the ice (as happened to my poor roommate this week), but at least you'll be dry.
However, despite the weather, my mood is mostly jubilant because we just signed the nation's best recruiting class (even if the recruiting sites give the honor to Bama, who will never be able to hold together their humongous class of recruits until fall). Signing day was way more fun than super tuesday. Go Irish.
Speaking of lack of postage, did you know it takes TWO stamps to send an absentee ballot? Discrimination against poor college kids, I say. I'm going through the effort of voting, the state should cover the postage.
About voting... I went with my 3rd choice candidate. Why? Because my first two dropped out before I even got to vote. Having already procured a Democrat ballot, my choice was narrowed down to Hillary and Obama, and I think it's pretty obvious which way that decision had to go. I feel like my rights were constrained; I might have rethought and voted Republican if I could have gotten a Republican ballot. At least I voted. Hurray for boosting the participation stats for my demographic.
Otherwise, life's swell. Classes are interesting (maybe I should have been a history major) and not to tough for once, social life is going well, and blockbuster online continues to deliver fabulous movies for me to watch. Seriously, nothing gives me a happy high like a really well made movie. Most recently, I have loved Amelie and The Waitress. Another good development: we went to a Superbowl party at the Knights' clubhouse, and dude, never in my collegiate career have there been so many steady couples in one room. I could lean against Joey without feeling like I was making the whole room feel awkward, and what a huge relief. Nice to find groups of people like that; having mostly single friends is peachy but makes me worry about being offensively non-single.
For the history buffs: War in European History is a fabulous and concise history of war, and War & Genocide: A Concise History of the Holocaust is delightfully controversial while explaining the Holocaust really, really well.
In other news, I'm looking at immersing myself in starting a Timmy Foundation chapter at Notre Dame. We would do advocacy, education, and fundraising year round for our partner org in the Dominican Republic and do an annual fall break service trip for 20 students with medical personnel. What I love is they've found a dependable, excellent, in need local organization that we can support and work through. We're not starting from scratch (like some campus initiatives) and we would be doing more than just talking about making things change. We would have a measurable impact over time and an ongoing relationship with our partner org. Furthermore, being tied to this group would give the chapter a sense of permanency- something hard to obtain in a college club with overworked and short-term leaders and members. Basically, I think this is the best thing to happen to ND since the CSC was founded, and I want to be a part of it.
Yup. That's pretty much it. Off to a Poverty Studies guest lecture by a South Bend dentist. The title of his powerpoint? Boom Times for Dentists, But Not for Teeth! So witty.
You have to click on the image to see it real-size- silly blogger photo size limits.
While relaxing in the arms of my very handsome reading chair, I got the notion to fix up my blog. I cropped my favorite wallpaper from VladStudio for the images involved- hopefully the credit blurb in the sidebar will save me from nasty lawsuits. We'll see how long I can handle the lack of blue in the color scheme.
This wasn't entirely what I meant to spend my afternoon doing... but it is pretty spiffy looking, if I do say so myself. And hey, I'm on break! Anything I meant to get done today can get done tomorrow (or sometime in the next few weeks) right?
Also, The Thirteenth Tale was an utterly fabulous book. Spectacularly lyrical descriptions. Now I'm on to A Thousand Splendid Suns, and I borrowed Stardust and The Poe Shadow from a friend last night. I'm also working on re-reading Reading Lolita in Tehran. I'm all set for my Annual Recreational Reading Christmas Break Marathon. Anyone else been reading anything interesting lately?
Finally, for your enjoyment:
After accepting the friend requests of friends' moms, adult relatives, and parish acquaintances, I have admitted the ineffectiveness of my no-adult-facebook-friends rule. I am swimming against the tide, people. Therefore, I have gone over to the dark side: I friended my mom.
I've heard about four different versions of The Little Drummer Boy in the last two hours while sitting in Starbucks, and I've hated all of them. I especially don't understand the one in which a sultry female voice sang "I am a poor boy too." Sweetheart, you can't make the little drummer boy sexy. The one I'm listening to now features Indian themed background music. Bah humbug on all of you.
Also, there is a foot of snow outside, all soft and fresh and powdery. When I go home, it will be in the 50s at lowest. Sometimes I wish I could bring GA farther north with me.
Happy Pink Sunday (not related to breast cancer).
Sorry for lack of posts. Finals, busy, blah blah excuses blah blah. You know the drill. The good news is:
Well, the wedding reception for my Marine cousin and his new wife was lovely. Birmingham was a welcome dose of Southern. And I think I talked more to my other cousin (the Marine's little brother) than I ever have in my life, which is seriously a good thing. I was so glad to be there and be supportive; family drama made things awkward at first, but then it was awesome and there was great family bonding time. There's nothing like a wedding to draw together a family. I don't think I've ever enjoyed just talking with my extended family so much as I did at this reception- and I wasn't even drunk ;-). It was beautiful and I'm so so so grateful I got to be there.
But the journey back- golly gee wiz*! To recap, attending this reception meant leaving on a 10:10 AM bus to Chicago, catching a 3:50 flight to Bham, attending reception, driving to the Atlanta airport early the next morning, taking a 11:50 flight to Chicago, and then catching a 1:15 bus out to school. The journey down went smoothly. But coming back involved 14 hours of travel because Illinois and Indiana decided to have a snow and ice storm. I am SO LUCKY that my flight made it into Chicago- when we landed, I literally could not see the ground coming until I felt the bump of hitting the runway and then lights along the runway were slightly visible through the thickly-falling snow. However, my plane didn't land in time for me to catch the bus back to Notre Dame, so I had to wait two or three hours for the next one. No big, but good God, there is no sadder place than O'Hare during the holidays when snow storms have caused universal flight cancellations. People were crying, yelling, pouting, and staring out into space in the bus terminal, where I occupied a plastic chair and waited for the bus. Long lines of angry people stood in direct contrast to the forced holiday cheer of the santa-hat-wearing help desk people, and exhausted little kids tugged at ornaments on the fake trees. By the time the bus showed up, I had never been so ready to be back at school.
But my trials were not over, dear reader. The world's creepiest man picked me to sit next to on the four hour bus trip. I was forced to physically pick up his hand by the wrist and put it on his own lap while he pretended to be innocently asleep on no less than three occasions, and no amount of polite shoulder-tapping, gentle shoves, or unhappy glares convinced the man that it would be wise to keep his hands to himself. During the ordeal, I was indignant, and it was only after three hours of riding next to him, after he got off the bus, that I was truly afraid, realizing how much worse it could have been. Especially since no one on the nearly silent, full bus assisted me at all as I kept asking the man (loudly, with no apparent response) to please not touch me. This is when I find myself hating self-absorbed big-city midwesterners (not that all or even most midwesterners are like this...). If the bus had been travelling in GA, every man sitting nearby would have kindly asked if that man was bothering me after my first vocal complaint, and they would have taken care of it. No one even met my eyes. Shudder. Enough of that. I made it home eventually, consumed a Reckers sandwich, and watched Love Actually, one of the best feel-good movies out there. I watch it once or twice every Christmas season.
I was planning on conquering the questions I posted about humility vs. confidence, but dudes, this post is way too long already. Next time.
* I googled both "golly gee wiz" and "golly gee whiz" to see which was the appropriate spelling, and both were listed on such reputable sites as Urban Dictionary, so I arbitrarily picked one.
Hi Blogger.
Someday I'm going to compose, edit, and publish a post well before midnight instead of rushing to get a post written because must! post! every! day!
I want to write a coherent post about this, probably tomorrow while sitting in an airport, so until then, consider this an abstract.
Tonight I ambushed enthusiastically greeted my almost-roommate-turned-Dominican-nun at the Center for Ethics and Culture's annual conference. She and a few other sisters came down from Michigan for tonight and tomorrow. It's incredible how much she has changed in the six months since I saw her last. She used to be loud, joyful, and exuberant, with many adorable expressions like "keep it real, yo." Now, she's just as joyful, but it's contained within a disciplined and obedient exterior. She speaks with a soft voice and with the utmost politeness. In short, she's a nun. It's like she's aged ten years and gained maturity and humility overnight. She's still her- but she's also so different.
This experience, while wonderful, got me thinking. I have been raised under the ideology that the best women- the women who should be idolized- are spectacular. They are famous, brilliant, and altogether amazing. They stand out. We are taught to fight anyone who tells you to obey (as an adult) or take a backseat to an authority figure. Young women (especially those in college) are encouraged to be the very best- screw what men expect of you. It's pretty much opposed to humility, because your entire life you're taught to be proud of the incredible person you are. So which is right? Is the ideal woman Marian, humble, obedient, subservient? Or is she proud, fabulous, and influential?
These questions were thrown in stark contrast by my meeting with Sr. Kristin, whose changed demeanor naturally made me cringe. Tonight I'll just leave you with the questions- I'll try to post my thoughts tomorrow (from Birmingham!).
Tonight I ventured out to the mall with the purpose of buying lovely and practical brown dress shoes, seeing as how black shoes do not match brown pants, and I intend to wear brown pants to my cousin's wedding reception Friday night.
This shopping experience was a dream, dear reader! I swooped into Payless Shoes, found a gorgeous, cheap, and comfortable pair of pumps, purchased matching stockings at half off, and merrily strolled to Chickfila for dinner. Never has a shopping experience been so smooth and delightful!
Dinner having been consumed, I waited patiently for the bus to arrive to bear me back to my campus abode. Soon a bus appeared, and I climbed aboard gratefully. As the bus journeyed forth, however, it was discovered that the bus was not the number 7, but number 15, bearing us in the opposite direction of home. Alas! An hour of jolting, nauseating, painstaking bus riding commenced before our mistake could be amended and campus regained. I survived with shoes intact, but with humbled dignity.
I'm writing a paper. It's about the wealth of the Church and whether it's managed properly. Like why we spend so much on lilies for Easter every year when people are still starving in the world. I don't really agree with this position- I personally think that the Church does a decent job of helping the poor, even if it could be more transparent about its assets- but I'm trying to create a topic worth discussing for a 75 minute class. I figure, people get offended by me implying the Church is greedy, then they talk for the whole class about it. Yeah, good plan.
Also, I've taken a lot of naps this week. By this week I mean today and yesterday. Naps to begin with are unusual for me, but long naps (an hour or more) are even rarer. And I'm still tired while trying to write this paper, which incidentally is due tomorrow morning.
I'm considering skipping my first class and sleeping in, with time for a nice long shower. It's nice to dream.
It's time for Christmas break. Oh wait, we have finals first. Argh.
An amazing thing happened today. In my grad school class, my professor handed back our term papers at the beginning of the class. I was totally unprepared for this, since I just turned this paper in last Friday, and most of our papers topped 20 pages. That's a lot for one weekend. But there it was, graded, commented on, and ready for me. I've been pretty worried about this paper; I hated writing it, and I knew it could have been better. I've been coming up with things I should have researched more all weekend. It's 40 percent of my grade. He's a historically harsh grader, and I've got stiff competition as the youngest one in the class. Criticism was scrawled on every page. I couldn't take it any more and flipped from page 5 to page 14, where he had written my grade before the endnotes and works cited. A. He loved it.
This experience proves my theory that I am more motivated by praise than anything else. I was on my game in this class today. Seriously, spot on. I asked the best questions and made the best points. Even the grad students had nothing on me. It was glorious. Call me smart and I will be, just to prove I've earned the praise.
Which means... maybe I was all along.
But look around, leaves are brown now
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter
Look around, leaves are brown
There's a patch of snow on the ground...
Heard at my all-female dorm mass tonight:
"There might be future presidents in this room tonight. If Hillary can do it, you can too!"
The homilist was a Haitian priest, so I'm going to hope he didn't know the cultural implications of that statement beyond the fact that a woman is running for president, but did you ever think you'd hear a priest support Hillary during a [Notre Dame] Mass?
Even though I'm thoroughly addicted to Starbucks, I tend to pride myself on not being *too* bitchy about my coffee preferences. My favorite drink is an iced grande light ice caramel macchiato- not that complicated. The "light ice" part is the only special request. They make these things a million times a day, and I love how Starbucks drinks have the same awesome quality in every store.
Once in a while, though, someone messes up, and it's crappy. I'm not experienced enough to know what's not right, but when my drink tastes bad (not just different or unusual, but bad) I'm not a fan. Those drinks are freaking expensive, and when I get one I've generally been looking forward to it for quite a while. It's often a little pleasure that I promise myself all day, as a reward or incentive. So when it's no good- it's like discovering that the sleeves of your favorite long sleeve tshirt don't cover your wrists any more.
But then comes the great dilemma: do you go back and ask them to remake it?
Sometimes I decide that this drink just absolutely sucks, I can't drink it without feeling sick, I need a new one. Keep in mind, this is a generally rare phenomenon. I approach the barista counter timidly, and ask for my drink to be remade apologetically. Nearly always, especially if it isn't a student worker but one of the adult managers, I get a glare and curt response. They remake my drink, all right, but with deep dislike and disapproval. They've even guilt-tripped me into leaving an over-generous tip at times, to make up for having impugned their coffee-making skills.
Such experiences make me pretty afraid of baristawrath. How should bad coffee situations be handled? I paid for something, and I expect to receive what I paid for. You would send back food at a restaurant if it was underdone or burnt. Politeness doesn't work. Waiting for them not to be busy doesn't work.
I wish that Moose and Kaituer Coffeehouse were here.
I can't sleep. Google tells me that the dictionary.com word of the day is:
Somniferous: causing or inducing sleep
Haha, it's so obscure that my spell checker says it's not a word. Just like how my text messaging word-guesser thing on my phone couldn't understand what I was trying to type during the game today when I was saying things like "bullshit." Lovely little innocent cell phone.
