Pansy

I am a giant wussface.

A coward. A tiny baby girl. Anything that denotes the fact that I completely, utterly have no backbone.

This is one of the facets of my personality I really have a problem with. Everyday I tell myself to be brave. I try to face the world with confidence, with the strength I wish I had. And everyday my fears hit me in the face, and all I want to do is run and curl up under the covers, pretending the world doesn't exist. Or go high in the mountains, where it is just me and the Lord and no one else, so I can finally be at peace.


My list of regrets is growing longer.

I wish I could confront people without being emotionally invested. I wish I wasn't afraid of failure. I wish I was more spontaneous, that I could be alright dropping obligations and running away. I wish I was more capable. I wish I could be that person that is always supportive, that can listen and empathize and be there. I wish I relied on people. I wish I was more trusting. I wish I could be that person who does what they want when they want. I wish I didn't overthink things.

But what's the point of wishing? Things are past or out of my reach. Or are they? Is there still that hope that I can turn my insecurities around and someday live with no remorse?

I think that's all we want. To be satisfied with life. To eliminate the many, various obstacles we create. To face this world entirely unafraid.

Eat My Shorts!

I would just like to announce that I completely and utterly OWNED my final tour for my docent class.

Yeah, that's right! TAKE THAT MOA!
And now I am done. No more putting up with overly pretentious art history majors. No more enduring the soporific tones of their tour voices, putting up with the desperate pleas at intellectualism and artistic insights, or trying to fight sleep and discomfort as they prattle on about how that slash of a line symbolizes rising hope and plummeting fortunes (confession: I have done that last one).


No more! After whining to friends and ditching class, I finished on the best note ever. My tour left them speechless. I took them through Mirror Mirror and turned them on their heads with my piercing analysis.


And now I'm done with that class! Did I mention that?

So just a few words, dear MOA.

HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW?!?!
bam.

Dichotomy

"People are never really emblematic of anything. Alive or dead, they constantly contradict themselves and turn out to contain unexpected elements."

Jonathan Rosen, The Talmud and the Internet

I've recently developed the skill of observance. It's quite new to me-- I was always self-involved, with a belief in personal privacy. But now I find people fascinating. Their actions, their words. The question of what drives behavior constantly haunts me.

And so I lust after stories, seeking childhood memories and inner reflections. Adversely, I find myself constantly waiting to share, an inner typhoon of reminiscences longing to be set free. Images of sneaking through fences and climbing on roofs, summers on the trampoline and autumn walks through the cemetery fill my lungs and struggle up the esophagus, yearning to slip past the lips but halted by self-consciousness.

Instead of discussing myself, I press others. What was elementary like? Who was your favorite teacher? What is the worst trouble you have ever gotten in? Where are you in your family? Do you think that has effected your outlook in life?

I am still painfully awkward at questioning people. Years of stifling my innate curiosity has left me blunt and unskilled. But the only way to get better is through practice, and I am filled with this need to know. Why do we act the way we do? What shapes us, what makes personalities? These are the answers I seek.

Despite the roughness of my approach, I feel I've gotten slightly better at reading the unspoken cues, understanding the subtle hints in language and demeanor. And I've been able to glean more out of casual conversation, learning more about others than they would probably like.

There are still many miles to go in my quest, but even in the short time I've become interested in discovering people, I've unearthed some useful facts. Namely, everyone is searching for definition, but their journey is in vain.

The world cannot be placed in a nice tight philosophy, and neither can a person. Situations change, opinions change, and there are no set rules, no matter how appreciated such things may be. The surest way to solidify an event is to firmly decide the opposite is true. So it is with people. We can think that we are THIS, but even as we settle on it, our cozy thought pattern begins to disintegrate, taking our firmly decided THAT with it. So we must embrace flexibility, accept the belief that nothing is concrete.

This isn't to say there aren't Universal Truths. There most certainly are, and they are the only anchor in the chaos that is existence. But to try and add other anchors, spread across distances among the sea of life, that is to invite frustration and hypocrisy. The only way to survive is to move with the current and stop trying to pin things down in a neat explanation. Some things don't work, and the factors are so unique that to try to apply similar reactions to different situations is a recipe for failure.

Basic rundown: people are unpredictable, but are a constant source of inspiration. Looking at others and acknowledging the lessons they offer is an important gift in life, but don't become too obsessed with trying to relate it to yourself. We are unique. This is the most wonderful thing about humanity. Observe others merely as a scholarly and artistic pursuit, but any answers about the self will be found as the years pass, and will unfold in their own manner. Once we stop trying to figure it out, it will all be much easier and vastly more enjoyable.

Smoothbeautifully Folded

I still can't write. My mind is muddled mixing, mashed mirth and mourning, a mire of muffled musings.

I feel dried up. But I'd like to believe there is still beauty in this world. In honor of beauty, I give you this.

Pied Beauty

GLORY be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

-Gerard Manley Hopkins

Eye See

Punny, isn't it? No, seriously, I could go off on a small apologetic rant about how I've been unable to write anything lately (why my grades are probably suffering) to try and make up for that title. But instead I will try to conquer my mental block by forcing myself to write, and focus on the story at hand.

Last Saturday I helped out my friend Andrea with a photo shoot. It was my first time officially being shot, and it's a little bit intimidating. You'd think someone as vain as I am would enjoy flaunting my stuff for the camera, but instead of improving my vanity it made me feel very self-conscious. Mostly because she decided to shoot me from the nose down. It had something to do with conveying a sense of anonymity or something really cool and artistic. But for me, something felt a little strange in how I was being portrayed.

I didn't realize until that exact moment how much I rely on my eyes.


It's no secret that I consider them my best feature (a belief built up over the years by multiple compliments).

Here's just a few of my favorite descriptions:
"She had the eyes of a Thundercats character."
"You have Gooch eyes, but not crazy."
"You're eyes are like Milky Ways."

Yeah. I'm kind of a fan. Needless to say.

So during the photo shoot, as I stood there trying to manipulate my mouth into interesting poses, it hit me how much I missed using my eyes. They're how I communicate, how I share emotions. And without them I feel useless, a dumb creature unable to get my point across. And it's infinitely frustrating. It bothers me when I can't get my point across, or when people refuse to understand what I'm saying. Being stripped of my expressions completely robbed me of the ability to connect, left me alone in the universe.

That's a little dramatic. I apologize.

I think the photos turned out pretty sweet though.

"I couldn't even begin to think about knowing how to answer that question"

Why do I like Wes Anderson?

Is it because he uses Bill Murray, Jason Schwartzman and the Wilson brothers as regulars? And they are all favorites, especially Murray? Is it because I secretly love the uber-hip playlists that expose a new generation to John Lennon and the Velvet Underground? Or is it the enduring color scheme of yellows, oranges and green that permeate his films? And that all of these elements give his movies a distinct style that is simultaneously comforting AND oh-so-easy to mockingly imitate (a respectful homage, of course)?



I guess it's a mystery.

Style Maven

I couldn't really think of a creative title, and I think the word "maven" is cool, so there you go.

So I shouldn't be writing right now, because I'm trying this new thing called "being efficient and finishing schoolwork earlier than three hours before class". Right now I'm attempting to trick myself into believing a paper is due tomorrow, instead of Thursday. Sadly, I'm not buying it. Why can't I be more gullible?

That was a very long-winded way of saying that while I was slacking off (typical paper-writing process), I found something most excellent.


Tavi is thirteen and blogs about fashion. I know what you are thinking. Why would Cat be interested in fashion? This girl who wears nothing but Converse, jeans, t-shirts and cardigans?

Don't fret, I am still as fashion oblivious as the next person. More so, probably. But Tavi is blowing my mind! At points I can't believe she is that young, because she's so hip and intelligent. Forget fashion, her blog is delightful to read. It's witty, colorful, and peppered with references to some of my favorite things (30 Rock and Freaks and Geeks! Let's be friends). I also like the beautiful images she posts. And the way she dresses is truly outrageous. I LOVE it. It's how I would dress if I had A) guts, and B) siblings that didn't make fun of me when I wear their super cool over-sized flannel shirts, John.

I'm probably breaking some law by posting that picture and linking to her blog, but until I get caught I ain't gonna stop.

Sidenote: I would probably be a successful rapper. Right? Right?