The Roaming Lily

Favorite Moment

2010-04-17T14:49:00.000-07:00

As I crossed over the Hawthorne Bridge last night, returning this time from Portland's "Filmed by Bike," it finally occurred to me to document the moment. Until this point, I had merely taken mental pictures as I biked over the bridge hundreds of times.

This is what serenity looks like to me, at least in urban surroundings.

Daumenlutscher Translation

2010-04-04T22:39:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd share the translation of a famous German poem, Die Geschichte vom Daumenlutscher from Der Struwwelpeter, that I did for my art and theory of translation course. Creepy stuff.

The Story of the Thumb Sucker

“Conrad!” said his mother dear,

“I’ll go out and you’ll stay here.”

You behave and don’t complain,

‘Til I come on home again.

But most of all, listen up!

Your thumb is not a thing to suck;

For the cutter with his shears,

Who so rapidly appears,

He’ll slice your thumbs right off

As if they’re but paper stuff.

When mother then did go away,

Thumb in mouth, he did not obey.

Whoosh! The doors burst opened wide,

And dashing in with sudden stride,

The Cutter in such zealous joy

Sprang upon the thumb-sucking boy.

Such pain! Shears that snip and snap,

Oh! Those sharp, enormous shears

Sliced off his thumbs with a clap!

“Ow!” yelled Conrad through the tears.

When mother came home once more,

There stood sad Conrad by the door.

Without thumbs he looked so glum;

Thumbless, but less troublesome.

Spring in Seattle

2010-03-28T22:41:00.000-07:00

Life is charming at the moment, full of love, art and enjoyable escapades in the Pacific Northwest. I meant to do a great deal of reading for pleasure over Spring Break, but instead Matthew and I ogled books in libraries and bookshops all around Seattle. The sun shone brilliantly until today, when I drove him to the airport in the pouring rain. It was fitting in that heartbreaking and cinematic way.
Tomorrow I return to university life and begin to trudge through the remaining five weeks of my time as an undergrad. Being a pseudo adult all these years was rather spectacular, though.

Learning Inside and Outside the Classroom

2010-03-08T03:15:00.000-08:00

This is a short reflection on overlap between psychological academic v. field experience done for my Psychology Internship capstone course:

The Psychology Internship certainly serves to provide the opportunity for seniors to integrate classroom and field experience and finally make use of textbook knowledge. Initial praise aside, however, I must underscore the fact that this course is only what students choose to make it. This ideal integration is dependent on two factors: 1) that the student absorbed, to some extent, the material presented to him/her in classes and 2) that the student actually possesses some semblance of interest in and passion regarding his or her internship. When both previous knowledge and current interest are present, they can fuse together to create a very effective and rewarding internship experience.

I strongly feel that the psychology major along with my active interest in it have lent me the proper tools to function somewhat successfully in the “real world.” What is particularly interesting, however, is that my experiences and passions developed outside the classroom have generally had a greater impact on what I choose to study than vice versa. I was informed at a basic level about Autism Spectrum Disorders, for example, n my Introduction to Psychology course freshman year, but it was not until I began working with children on the Autism Spectrum that following summer that became something meaningful to me on a profoundly personal level. Similarly, my enthusiasm for early childhood education, the role of imaginative play and the importance of art in school were supported by theories dissected in Developmental Psychology sophomore year, but actually blossomed during my time as a Montessori assistant teacher and an art education volunteer.

This pattern leads me to believe that the significant overlap between on and off-campus learning experiences is no coincidence, as each area lends to, develops and exists concurrently with the other. Yet abstracting issues and phenomena from their context in order to properly mentally digest them did less to sufficiently prepare me for the real world than actually working in the real world ever did.

Internal Dialogue of the Most Intimate Sort

2010-02-19T14:44:00.001-08:00

I finally completed the painting started some time back. Now only the mural version remains left unfinished. I titled it "Internal Dialogue of the Most Intimate Sort," and submitted it for consideration to the Gender Studies Symposium's art show.

With this piece, I aimed to simplify the highly complex inner workings of the autonomic nervous system, namely how the brain and heart interact. In this context, the heart should be seen in terms of its symbolic worth and the associations made with love, emotion and heartache. The brain and the heart then interact in an abstract sort of dialogue, communicating notions rather than words or concrete facts. For this reason, the content of the word bubbles are stylized designs, as they convey that which is intangible.

Future US Travel Idea

2010-01-30T22:43:00.000-08:00

I imagine it would be incredibly fun to view the large amount of botanical gardens in the US some day. For now, I will collect friends and explore those in Portland:

Adventures shall be had and horticulture undertaken... or perhaps just inspected.

Kinesthetic Care

2010-01-30T15:02:00.000-08:00

I'm currently under the weather, and have taken the illness as an opportunity to really listen to my body once again. Like many others, while I am rarely very sick, in the Spring I have terribly annoying allergies as if to compensate for this fact. That being so, when an illness crops up, I typically neglect my body in a state of denial, opting instead to live just as I would otherwise. This is probably not the wisest decision, but it allowed me to perform in dance shows and explore Berlin rather than sniffle in bed, swimming in Kleenex and self pity.

Yet today, rather than working, going on the first annual "Tweed Ride" (bikes, beer, baked goods and fashion!), and meeting up with a friend, I stayed home listening to music, making potato gratin provencal and braiding my hair. Homebody points earned, please? The fact that I need to keep a 3 ft. radius between myself and others definitely forced staying home upon me, but maybe it's good to take a time out this early in the semester, so that I don't overstrech and overcommit too quickly.

On that note, I am eager to share some incredibly imaginative dance exercises I learned in my improv and composition course. Some of them, mind you, may seem a bit bizarre or too alternative, but the amazing thing about them is that people across the entire spectrum of dance - from novices to classically trained ballerinas - can enjoy the activities if they let themselves.

Sound-based movement

Working in partners, one person makes a sound in the way a child or animal might - in a free and expressive rather than self-conscious way. That sound then causes the other person to move, responding kinesthetically to auditory cues. The first partner pursues the second, making a variety of sounds until it is time to switch, and partner two has a chance to direct the movement.
This same exercise can be reworked to fit the group. Around seven people (in large classes, split up into subgroups) form a diagonal line in the room and an individual at one end instigates sound together with a specific movement. The next person in the line faces her/him, repeats the gesture and noise, then turns around to the next dancer with a new combination. Eventually, this reaches a rapid-fire state where various sounds are being made at an alarming rate and what results feels like a domino effect.

Partner Work: Joint Movement and Mutual Trust

Two people sit back to back, as straight and seemingly connected as possible (i.e. spine to spine, shoulder blade to shoulder blade). One person begins leading and the other follows, not necessarily mirroring, but always responding and filling empty space. Partners switch roles and ultimately come to a point where it is no longer clear who is following whom. The two people are simply listening to one another with their bodies.

Improvised Choreography: Directives

In groups of four, one person steps out and improvises several phrases as the rest of the group watches intently. That is to say that he or she merely dances spontaneously while remaining aware of the variety of shapes being made. This segment lasts perhaps four slower eight counts or just under a minute. The dancer then stops, and individuals of the group take certain movements they have just witnessed, reworking and recreating them. The creator watches them and gives directives (e.g. unify, interact, slower, faster, level change or something more specific and plot driven, like "A and B dancers interact, C encircles them").

Individual Dances done within the Framework of the Group

Starting in child's pose (the fetal position where one's knees and shins touch the ground while the torso and head rest on the thighs, arms at sides), imagine that you are rooted to the earth by sprigs of alfalfa sprouts. Gently rip limbs and fingers away from the 'earth,' only to realize that you are pulled back downward, whereupon your body immediately reroots. Move continuously upward, sometimes sinking back down, and eventually reach the standing position. Now walk as if the soles of your feet are still connected. The end effect is rather zombie-like and the focus is intense. Finally, return to a normal walk but retain the feeling of being grounded.
Respond to the architecture and objects in the room with movement. For example, a swimming motion paired with alternating rigid lines could suggest the stereo speakers. This is very interpretative and could potentially make people feel awkward or at a loss for ideas, but when everyone in the room is wrapped up in his/her own thing, it's very manageable. The exercise is especially effective when paired with African drumming.
Lie on your back on the floor and imagine that you are being layered with paint. Try to cover every part of your body with the color, contorting yourself into many interesting, differently leveled positions.

*Exercises described based on experience through instruction by Susan Davis of Lewis & Clark College, Spring 2010.

Also, before I forget, next time you are ill, take a bubble bath and drink some peppermint tea with a bit of Anisette. The foam in your bath will start to resemble melting icebergs and you will feel deliriously happy from the warmth and luxury.

Redwood City to Portland

2010-01-18T20:06:00.000-08:00

Two days ago, I arrived in Portland after completing a 700 mile drive with my friend Emily. We split the drive up over two days, thankfully, starting in Belmont, California and pausing for while in Arcata to rest up and visit a friend. While Emily had already made the drive several times before with her father, it was my first time being a driver in a road trip of any length.

The drive was filled with many oddities and highlights, and we made a point to pass through a town named O'Brien, where I jumped out of the car briefly to pose for a photo and proclaim everything there to be mine. Sadly, all I saw beyond the O'Brien post office and deli was a shack and an abandoned car seat with the stuffing ripped out. On second thought, they can keep their belongings...

I laughed uproariously when we passed a sign for "Loleta [sic] Cheese" and my friend remarked, "I feel like the cheese wouldn't be very good; it would really have to age." Other comical sightings included:

a gigantic plaster cowboy boot
advertisements for burls (woodcut items, apparently)
an enormous hammer
the Paul Bunyan statue, complete with blue ox
a site named "Confusion Hill" with self-proclaimed 'wacky' objects
a forest park sign written in the disturbing Kleenex font
Gold Rush Coffee in Eureka (now, aren't they just historically and geographically accurate!)
a stand boasting the owner's services as 'the Decal Guy'
freeway exits to both Samoa and Trinidad, both of which caused Emily to shout "California, we are not an island nation!" and me to respond with "...yet."
the Chalet House of Omelettes

As we drove, we mocked ourselves and made up absurd jokes about signs indicating potential elk crossing vs. actual kinetic elk sightings. We realized that between the two of us, we had amassed a series of stereotypical labels (e.g. veg/pescetarian, feminist, liberal), fawned over ancient Redwoods and the Pacific, and insulted the standard American male GPS voice up until we mourned his death (cause: short battery life expectancy) and had to backtrack twenty miles to figure out where the hell we had ended up.
At the end of the journey, I felt whole to be surrounded by misty rain and evergreens once again. "Hello there, Portland," I thought, right before I took a luxurious bath, watched television and drank an espresso. Comfort earned.

Oh, and having my lovely Volvo here, I finally realized, does not make me any less of a biker. Time to have it all?

On being human

2010-01-18T19:43:00.001-08:00

I was either told from a young age or perhaps merely intuitied - with the aid of observation - that to be a fascinating, worthwhile human being, one needed to be deeply passionate about something. Being enraptured by an array of different disciplines or ideas was even better, I imagined. Such being my worldview, I cared about possibly too many things, and not enough about people who were not my family or friends. This kind of thinking can produce elitist behavior and attitudes, and, I realize now, should sooner be avoided, but my current conclusion could not have been reached without a history of it.

Now, in my final year as an undergrad (which I understand means nothing in the grand scheme of things), I see that such diverse and compelling passions are useful in terms of self-value and potential contribution to society. I care about autism, child therapy, dance, theatre, history, art, music and ludicrously long list of other topics. This is acceptable, but demands prioritization and is conducive to the elitist attitude mentioned earlier. Someone fascinated by and hugely talented in molecular biology, airplane engineering, the stock exchange or textiles is probably more whole in the sense that s/he knows everything about said field.

The danger then is being what the Germans call a Fachidiot - someone who is highly informed in one area and vastly ignorant in all others. Choosing to specialize, or even deciding for or against anything at all, is highly limiting. The word decide itself stems from the Latin decidere, meaning "to cut off." Yet if we never limit ourselves in one sense (e.g. choosing not to pursue a career in acrobatics), it is impossible to grow and broaden knowledge in any other.

I am amused by how deftly humans have evolved and yet are faced with a set of entirely novel problems. True, the development of the prefrontal cortex was crucial in the process, but with this increased mental capacity, we are forced to be the planners and acheivers of the world and live by arbitrary, seemingly positive values.

On Siblings

2010-01-04T22:18:00.000-08:00

My brother and I are incredibly close, and I just spent the last few weeks with him and his wife in the Bay Area. Since he is five years older than me, we never fought and I remember being ecstatic when he let me play spy with him and the neighbor kids - I was three and could pull off a fairly accurate impression of an exploding building. Ah, what a sad talent to have lost.

Visiting my brother was also a re-education of sorts, as I have been 'brotherless' for the past year and a half, minus Skype and cell phone calls. We watched tons of films based on Marvel/DC comics (Iron Man and Batman) and I became fairly well-versed in video games once again. It's very little sisterly of me, getting overly eager at the story scenes in games and listening intently when he describes some aspect I would never know of or even intend to learn about on my own. The sibling roles are fun, though, and there is something about the older brother glow that has always been reassuring. I wouldn't like to imagine how different - and potentially prissy - I would be without him.

Currently Reading

2010-01-03T00:37:00.000-08:00

It's so thrilling to read for pleasure again rather than force myself to stay awake reading textbooks. Ah, winter break. Right now I am racing through the pages of JPod by Douglas Coupland. It's definitely funny and bizarre, and would be of interest if you liked John Hodgman's The Areas of my Expertise. It feels like a parody of itself, and the author even inserts himself into the novel as a running cameo, only to be called an asshole by the main character.

Notes from the semester

2009-12-14T15:51:00.000-08:00

Today, while tearing out and recycling pages of my biology notebook from this semester, I found these notes scribbled into the margins:

This morning, as the crisp, wintry air seeped through my tights and into my bones while I walked, it hit me that it is December once again. I marvel at how quickly time seems to have passed, but it seems this way every year: ungodly slow while you are in it, then torrential and rapid in retrospect.

I don't feel like I am living my life at the moment. It seems I am on academic autopilot and in a liberal arts incubator, sheltered from the real world. I am in for a rude awakening when this ends, yet I am still anxious to break free of it all.

Weihnachtszeit

2009-12-05T20:03:00.001-08:00

Frohe Weihnachten von uns in der deutschen Wohnung bei Lewis & Clark!

Discomfort

2009-12-04T09:33:00.000-08:00

It's eerie how quickly and roughly certain triggers can jerk you into the past.

I wrote down that earlier this morning, and still truly believe it. Yesterday I found out that my flatmate's good friend was someone that I had actually met previously . I heard his voice when he came through the door; it was distinct and recognizable. When I passed by the living room on my way to the kitchen later, my suspicion was confirmed.

This person, who was now comfortable on our couch, in our home, was someone who had done something rather awful to me. He is perfectly nice in other ways, yet I remember him as that creep from freshman year. We forced exchanged pleasantries, then I took my friend E. aside and explained the situation to her. She encouraged me to tell A., our other flatmate, the story, and I did, after her friend left. We had a good conversation and she was very kind in offering not to have him over, but rather to go out to meet with him. Additionally, she had already more or less assumed that his behavior fell along those lines and knew to be careful herself.

Why does the woman always have to be careful, though? I found myself saying "I should have known not to put myself in such a situation, or surround myself with such people," when in reality, it was not purely my mistake. If others, specifically those who initiate (or take advantage, depending on how you view it), were educated on boundaries and consent, these events would not happen.

Reaction against the Minaret Vote in CH

2009-11-30T20:44:00.000-08:00

Ich als Schweizerin schäme mich für das Resultat der Minarett-Initiative.

For those who are interested, there is even a group (granted, one on Facebook) dedicated to this topic and seeking solidarity with the Swiss Muslim community. The fact that the description is in [high] German, French, English and Italian highlights a major reason I take such pride in Switzerland while ironically emphasizing how diversity is acceptable only when in reference to Western Europe.

Mirror neurons

2009-11-29T21:09:00.000-08:00

Just flailed out of joy upon finding a NOVA segment on mirror neurons! Oh, when beautiful things of the world converge.

In a similar vein, here is the start of a a hellish paper I stupidly waited too long to begin:

Dysfunctional Mirror Neuron System Development and Brain Structure Abnormalities in Individuals with Autism Spectrum Disorders

Autism Spectrum Disorders (ASD) have reached a 1,148% growth rate and affect approximately one out of every 150 Americans. Presently the fastest-growing category of developmental disabilities, the concrete causes of ASD remain nevertheless unclear, as previous technology has been limited to either observational studies of social behavior in autistic individuals or postmortem brain examinations. However, with more modern brain imaging techniques such as electroencephalography (EEG), researchers have come across insightful discoveries like the role of mirror neurons and the ability to localize neurostructural abnormalities. In this paper, I seek to examine the putative neurological basis of autism, focusing primarily on mirror neuron system dysfunction as well as cell-packing within and reduced connectivity between the cerebellum, limbic system and other brain regions.

Sources:

“Autistic Spectrum Disorders: Changes in the California Caseload, An Update June 1987-June 2007.” Cavagnaro, Andre T., California Health and Human Services Agency. State of California 2003 survey of developmental disabilities.

Center for Disease Control and Prevention, 2007, and the 2000 U.S. Census figure of 280 million Americans.

Crafty

2009-11-29T15:58:00.000-08:00

I gave an old blouse a makeover, turning it into a pretty scarf.

Ta-da!

Lesson learned

2009-11-28T02:01:00.000-08:00

Perhaps others perceive long-distance relationships differently than I do, and perhaps they have more faith or optimism.

I learned, however, that it's simply not possible, no matter how in love two people are.

Distance, when too extreme, only dilutes passion and postpones joy.

Cute

2009-11-24T10:40:00.000-08:00

Me: You were in my dream, by the way.
His response: I know, I was there.

Young Folks - Peter, Bjorn & John

2009-11-23T00:44:00.000-08:00

I am motivated in all the wrong areas. Please, could I just make art rather than study? I could just sell greeting cards and live in moderately happy poverty. If I paint things with birds, people will surely buy them. Americans are crazy about birds.

Happy sidenote: whenever I hear the song "Young Folks," I can't get it out of my head for days. The video is entrancing too - take a look.

Diorama Completion!

2009-11-21T16:08:00.000-08:00

I finally put the finishing touches on the diorama I am making for a charity event at Ugly Mug (a coffeeshop) in Sellwood. Photos of the initial stages were already posted here, but now it is complete with curtains and old stamps covering the sides and top.

Berlin

2009-11-20T01:00:00.000-08:00

When do I get to live here?

Wanderlust never subsides.

Image credit: SkyScraperPage

Terminology

2009-11-15T15:29:00.000-08:00

"So many of the words for romantic or sexual partners make women mere appendages of men, extend a long-standing power imbalance. What is the item to describe a relationship of equals, two adults trying to make a life together? I like 'partner,' with its hints of adventure and readiness, the idea of moving together through a love affair or life" (What We Call Each Other, Andee Hochman).

Premature Resolutions

2009-11-15T08:17:00.000-08:00

What is the point of waiting to make New Year's resolutions on December 31st if you can already diagnose a few issues in your life? Perhaps recognizing them sooner allows more time to actualize them. These are some things I need to practice:

a) not giving up so easily, especially when it's worth it.
b) not being so damn indecisive or constantly changing my attitude toward situations
c) actually being employable come graduation and taking realistic steps now

These elements are exhausting to think about, and I think I'll quietly crawl back under the covers to read and subconsciously process them.

Sidenote: Emily, Anna and I are all in Hood River this weekend, enjoying a break from campus and dare I say, even Portland. It will be short-lived, as we return today, but I plan to get some more work done for the next week of classes. Friday night was glorious and full of [measured] reckless abandon. I met with two lovely friends for Happy Hour at Gilt Club, a swanky yet affordable place. We talked and laughed for hours before purchasing and cracking open another bottle of wine. I thought of the Italian students I had befriended in Padua and enjoyed myself, the night and our youth. Later we attended a birthday party which was crowded but full of familiar faces. There was much laughter, playfulness (which later morphed into serious talks and then back again) and a great mood in the air.

I can't wait to be free of this semester and actually live a little.

On autism and personal growth

2009-11-13T02:56:00.000-08:00

“Hello Kenneth, * hello Kenneth,” a circle of children and adults sings to an eight-year-old boy whose cherubic face sits upon an otherwise gangly body. “Hello Kenneth, so glad you’re here today!” the group finishes, just as the increasingly frustrated and reddening boy yells, “Stop it!” in his best Hulk impression. The teaching assistant to his left, optimistically termed a ‘buddy,’ gently rubs his back, gradually bringing him back to a calmer state.

Like the rest of the students in the male-dominated classroom, Kenneth has autism: Asperger’s Syndrome, specifically. This places him on the ‘high-functioning’ end of Autism Spectrum Disorder, and at times, he is no different from a neurotypical developing child. He loves Candy Land, enjoys tag, is especially bossy in that purely childlike way, and interacts with other people.

As a teaching assistant with the Autistic Children’s Activities Program in Portland, I taught, played with and guided children with autism, many similar to Kenneth, for two consecutive summers, five days a week, eight hours a day. Beginning the job after my freshman year of college, my only real interaction with developmentally disabled individuals had been brief, and my knowledge was largely textbook-based. I was eager to learn quickly and draw connections to theories I had previously explored in only an abstract manner.

The program proved wonderfully difficult yet enjoyable, both for the children and for me. From such mentally, physically and emotionally trying lessons, I became skilled in reacting correctly and effectively redirecting negative behavior. As a result, I grew closer to the children, and autism gained a face – or several. I had incidentally but gladly become some form of spokesperson in my community and resident expert within my peer groups for this cause, which in the process also became my cause.

I dug into articles, studies and personal stories regarding autism, restructuring into an academic framework my experiences with Kenneth and his peers. In those summers, I felt incredibly challenged and fulfilled, and I learned to apply that drive and sense of purpose to other areas of my life. I saw that learning is a continual process, with new input constantly feeding older neural pathways as well as acquired information in an ever-adapting feedback loop. It is up to us to keep that loop alive and functioning on a higher level, and to stimulate it by improving and being improved by the lives of others.

*Name changed for privacy of family

and when it's over...

2009-11-12T23:33:00.000-08:00

It seems like all good things have an expiration date. Aside from Ho Hos, that is.

Although I suppose they aren't even that great after all...

Painting by Craig Stevens (beautiful work)

Lesions and pumpkins

2009-11-12T18:13:00.000-08:00

Brain lesions that produce aphasia - AND look like jack-o-lanterns!!

Chocolate Bicycle

2009-11-11T01:11:00.000-08:00

Yes, yes, a million times yes. That was my thought upon viewing the glory of:

Now I can have my bike AND eat it too. It's wonderful when people think in similar ways, particularly when it involves chocolate bicycles.

Home

2009-11-08T12:49:00.000-08:00

After a period of pensive consideration, I see that Portland is still my home, and I've no desire to leave it so soon. Naturally, I realize that the reasons I can say this now with complete conviction and perhaps defy it in years to come are that:

I am in my early 20s, and this city is incredibly appealing to my age group.
My driver's license, library card, tax forms and liberal inclination tell me that I am a Portland resident, and I tend to agree with them.
While in Munich, I dreamt of Portland and idealized it. Though there was no desire to return immediately, as I was exploring fascinating parts of Europe and having the time of my life, I still viewed it as my base.
Growing up is loosely defined as confronting reality and considering what is worth sacrificing vs. what is not. It's not time to go.

That said, I think after next summer I will be ready to jump back into academia, hopefully at PSU. Having a plan, however shaky, feels good.

Diorama

2009-11-06T02:12:00.001-08:00

This is the first stage of completion in a diorama I am making for an art/charity event at Ugly Mug. It's full of terribly anachronistic themes, and I am loving the project thus far. Curtains and roof will follow soon, plus little stairs at the bottom corners. On the right is man atop a penny farthing. Behind him are Multnomah Falls, a Mayan pyramid and the Swiss Alps. On the left is a human skeleton leading T-Rex skeleton into the waterfall. I'll post photos of the finished product when available.

Shaky Ruminations on Love and Society

2009-11-04T18:37:00.000-08:00

It's odd how even when things are currently going well, you know the old nagging questions will soon crop up again. The same stress factors will intensify, and any sort of mitigation from before will dissolve. Yet just when it gets to be too much, a catalyst appears and acts to either position you once again in the satisfied state or to end the affair altogether.

This is seems to be a rather cynical view of emotional cycles (though cynics would call it pragmatist instead), yet maybe we can realize this in advance and recognize when the questions will return. Unfortunately, I have yet to meet such a forward-thinking person who actually engages in this process - and with good reason, as it's remarkably demanding and hardly fun at all.

This applies to attitudes both toward people or situatons, but I tend to place more worth on the social element, as situations are more easily justified or explained, no matter how undesirable they seem. I once had a close friend with whom I would go through periods of intense closeness, followed by drifting apart, then passive aggression and an important Discussion of Issues thereafter. It was a messy trip made more complicated by our proximity to one another, but it did have a sort of cleansing feeling to it. If all my friendships were like this, however, I'd sooner be a hermit.

Some of these experiences are normative, though, like how distraught and wretched you feel after the end of a long relationship, followed by how free you feel some months from that point. Humanity as a whole seems rather bipolar in this respect. Our highs are gloriously high and our lows are those knuckle-dragging, hopelessly and ridiculously depressing lows. Of course, this can be explained by the fact that individuals perceive their lives only from their own viewpoint, and are less able to lift their heads up every once in a while for comparison.

I love the first chapter of Chuck Klosterman's Sex, Drugs, and Cocao Puffs, for reasons other than the similar-minded yet less witty and observant word mash above. In it, he notices a "single, unifying characteristic" among Americans: "the inability to experience the kind of mind-blowing, transcendent romantic relationship they perceive to be a normal part of living" (Klosterman, 2).

He ultimately blames John Cusack, via Lloyd Dobler, for this illusion of "fake love," in a very amusing argument. But my experience differs here, and as much as I'd like to side with the Chuck Klostermans and Rob Flemings (who was, incidentally, played by Cusack High Fidelity the film) of the world in that pop music and teen movies have given us an inflated view of love, I can't.

It is overinflated and unrealistic while you experience it, and you are on top of the world. When it's over, you think you will never love anyone as much again. Only when you look back do you see that there were less than flowery aspects, and even this looking back sometimes interferes with your ability to believe in new love. But we forget it all, and we repeat the cycle again, because those highs are just wonderful enough to justify the lows.

Or I could undo my entire argument and just claim that this is the reason we put up with what we do:

[I'm] Hoping something good might grow out of this mistletoe
And I won't have to erase your memory
....
I like the way that our arguments stop when we fall asleep
And the way that your body feels when it's wrapped around me

(Lyrics: Christmas TV, Slow Club)

Of Rats and Undergrads

2009-11-04T18:04:00.005-08:00

Tomorrow we begin running mazes and other experiments with lab rats in Behavioral Neuroscience, and I am rather eager.

Bike Beauty

2009-10-21T19:52:00.000-07:00

This took my breath away:

Source: http://www.zenzero.com/ams/amsCycle01.html

Mural Progress

2009-10-20T22:53:00.006-07:00

I inked the canvas version of my drawing and made huge progress on the mural itself while enjoying time to myself in the Womyn's Center and blasting Magnetic Fields.

Here is the canvas:
Step 1 & 2 on the wall:
aaand the entire mural thus far, complete with an infuriating little mistake on the left speech bubble:
I already wrote something of this nature elsewhere, but this mural is what my marionettes and performance were last semester: a tool in maintaining my sanity and higher cognitive functions so as to avoid freaking out. Purpose is Good.

On Masculinity

2009-10-19T01:29:00.004-07:00

While writing a short assignment for my Psychology of Gender course, I was drawn into the exercise in such an astonishing, unexpected way. Although I didn't believe that I held strong views on what defines masculinity, after speaking to two men, as instructed to in the prompt, new opinions and questions appeared. Here is the result:

In collecting responses to the broad question of what it means to be a man, I spoke with my father and a close friend and found two varying, yet not completely contradictory viewpoints. My father, age 56, is an intellectual and proudly dons the title of ‘lifelong-learner.’ My mother often – both affectionately and with a hint of exasperation – calls him ‘Mr. Hallmark’ because of the philosophical, improvised poignancy of his comments and observations. As I described the assignment and posed the question, I attempted to remove any bias on my part and allow him to give a broad, open response. “There is no right or wrong answer,” I said, intending to eliminate the sense of expectancy.

It should be stated, however, that he is my father and therefore aware of my personal views. We actually just had a conversation about feminism, among other things, a few weeks prior to this assignment, in which I echoed the frequently paraphrased quote that “feminism is the radical notion that men and women are equal” so as to summarize some major third wave ideals. I may have replaced the word ‘radical’ with ‘wacky,’ as this was an informal and rapid conversation, and this incidence could have had an effect on his response, yet I choose to entertain the notion that my father slightly aligned himself with this perspective beforehand.

After just a brief pause and a breath of consideration, he said, “ masculinity involves strength when fear is present, calm when chaos reigns and wisdom when all those about you are losing their heads. It is understanding the power that females have over and with you, not competing with them, and realizing that they have the other half of life’s great secret.” I had expected something of this sort from him, and was amused when, as I repeated his answer, he laughed with pleasure, having already forgotten and consequently agreeing once again with what he had said, perhaps mentally deeming it rather progressive.

It is interesting to note that the term “masculinity” in his reply could easily be replaced with “humanity.” After all, would it not be ideal for all people to possess strength, a calm demeanor and wisdom? In venturing beyond traditionally held ideals of the male role, my father actually broadened up the category so much as to apply to all individuals, or at least those endowed with admirable traits.

The second person I interviewed was a male friend, who is a 21-year-old college student in Arizona. Though I suspected that he would provide an answer perhaps more radical than my own theory on masculinity, I left the question as open-ended as before and listened as he repeated the prompt, mulling over his reply. His very forward answer was that being male indicated having the corresponding anatomy and fitting the biological norm, though he did acknowledge the “gray area of hermaphrodites.” “Beyond that,” he said, he did not “feel that there is anything socially that places a man over a woman.” I was intrigued that he related masculinity to gender hierarchy so quickly and without being guided to do so.

Like other college students his age, holding liberal political views, he continued by using the well-known textbook turned vernacular phrase “social construct.” He expressed distaste with the social differentiation between male and female roles, allowing for the observation that men are generally seen as the breadwinner for the house in the stereotypical mode of thinking.

“Masculinity is not inherent,” he repeated at two points, “except,” he joked, “for the absence of having a period.” In this way, my friend ignored and overstepped the commonly held belief that anatomy is destiny and spoke in favor of the highly similar nature of men and women. Although from a neurological standpoint (e.g. lateralization of speech and language function in men and women), this is not exactly the case, I was impressed with his dedication to defying normative views of masculinity and femininity.

Artistic Endeavors

2009-10-18T23:03:00.005-07:00

Do you ever get to the point where you have discussed a project to death, essentially giving an empty sales pitch each time you mention your idea? A friend of mine brought this up today while taking portrait shots of E. and me for her photography project. She has told so many people so many times what she aims to do that she now just wants to go, at full force, and accomplish it. Putting a plan into action is much more challenging than theorizing about it, obviously, and for this reason, many of us sit around on top of realized but unborn ideas.

On that note, I'd like to mention some baby steps made in a mural project I have been mulling over for ages. I had experienced the urge to paint a mural in the Womyn's Center on campus, where I volunteer, for the past couple years, but after an initial lack of enthusiasm in the head coordinator's reception of my offer (she had her mind set on writing out the manifesto from Cunt). Earlier this semester, however, I casually mentioned my deflated insignificant-seeming goal during a meeting. The new group was thrilled, as the promising wall had been blank for years, aside from a pink sticky note with the exciting command: "Don't touch this wall! It's being saved for something special." At the next meeting, I unveiled my idea, which had already existed in several minor and separate art projects, waiting to be tied together. They were ridiculously welcoming of my concept, and exclaimed "Ooh cool" in that college student way.

Tonight I finished my sketch on canvas - which I plan to paint and complete, so that I have something tangible at the end of this project - which had previously consisted of a lonely brain... I should explain here. There are two 'subjects' within the sketch: a brain and a heart. They are stylized, not rigidly correct like their functional, pulsing counterparts. Above them are two speech bubbles, suggesting that the heart and mind are in dialogue. Yet rather than words within the bubbles, there are abstract shapes and designs. Here I could go on about how the internal organs don't speak our language, necessarily, but I'll avoid the cheesiness of it all.

Photos!

You can tell from this that I've studied the brain much more than the heart... but again, the drawing is stylized, not terribly anatomically accurate.

ATTN: Call for Portland Puppeteers!

2009-10-15T00:39:00.004-07:00

After taking a puppetry course in Munich, Germany, with two established puppeteers, I became set on continuing my newfound passion in Portland. Sadly, however, my attempts at forming a meet-up group fell through when I realized there was a large fee involved. I have yet to lose hope, though, and wanted to to pose the question to anyone who happens to stumble across (or upon, rather) this blog:

Would you be interested in getting together to practice and puppetry techniques or potentially even perform in public?

In Munich, I created two intricate marionettes and directed, choreographed, guided other group members in and performed my own piece in a small theater. I feel rather attached to the figures now and would like to have the chance to practice manipulation and animation with others interested in the art once again.

What say you?

Family and Solid Ground

2009-10-14T18:49:00.006-07:00

Last weekend I enjoyed a brief yet much needed break from coursework and flew to Tempe, Arizona, to see family and friends again for the first time in years. My sister-in-law and brother came over from the Bay Area, too, and we caught up with my parents and grandparents. It was a lovely reunion of my small family, and at one point we called my Oma in Zurich as well. It's odd having a family polarized by geography, and I am envious of my former self for being so close to relatives in Switzerland and Germany just months ago. A photo was taken of this side of the family in the backyard of my parents' new home, shortly after we enjoyed mimosas, organic pizzas and salad for brunch:

In a way, my parents' house has made me feel more stable as well, as I realize there is some firm grand for me to land on, albeit only for temporarily bouts, somewhere. Also, places like Cartel, Cornish Pasty, Pita Jungle and the Tempe Center for the Arts draw me to Tempe and cause me to realize that it is more alive than I had imagined before. Romanticizing the city has also led me to decide on Arizona State University (ASU) as my third option for graduate school, with Portland State (PSU) as number one, followed by University of Washington. Plan D? I am not so sure. Perhaps I'll work in Portland or run off to Europe for a while if all of these options fall through. Maybe one day I will learn Spanish again, take the leap from conversational back to semi-fluent...

Academic Inferiority Complex

2009-10-05T20:20:00.002-07:00

I can't seem to retain information lately. It seems as if contents of textbooks are hurled my way, yet upon impact, slowly slink off and vanish: Poof. As thrilled as I am about certain aspects of the Behavioral Neuroscience course, the subject matter is just so dense and inaccessible. Potassium channels, action potential, microglial cells, pharmacokinetics. When I enthusiastically envisioned this Fall semester while wading through pages upon pages of complex German, I thought of how lovely it would be to study once again in my native language. This misled, optimistic notion died when I remembered the 'pseudotechnological jargon' (to quote an article on gender identity and sex I recently read) involved in science courses, or even in humanities courses dabbling in postmodernism.

Comparing myself to peers who did not spend a year abroad and instead expanded their already daunting vocabularies, conducted research projects with professors, and were coiffed and prepped to dazzle the world with their articulate speaking abilities is rather depressing. As such, I am left feeling slightly less worthy in a shameful puppy sort of way about my own intellectual prowess (or lack thereof) and ability to succeed in college. This isn't life, though. I have to remember that. Many of these liberal arts kids may stroll off the stage with their diplomas and into their interviews with elevated confidence only to be rejected and reminded of their inexperience. Yet I can't experience the slightest bit of Schadenfreude here, as this is my own fate as well.

Oy vey. How terribly overwhelming this is.

Covert Sexism via Facebook

2009-09-30T00:00:00.006-07:00

Today, while going about my mission to avoid homework at all costs, I casually scrolled down the Facebook Newsfeed, ingesting, with zombie-like sedation, the various status updates. I was shocked out of inactivity with electric force upon seeing the update of a relative of mine, which was the following quote:

"Whatever you give a woman, she will make greater. If you give her sperm, she'll give you a baby. If you give her a house, she'll give you a home. If you give her groceries, she'll give you a meal. If you give her a smile, she'll give you her heart. She multiplies and enlarges what is given to her So, if you give her any crap, be ready to receive a ton of shit"

Mixed feelings of outrage at the originator of this quote and confusion as to how it could be viewed by other women as something to cause pride and gender-justification swelled within me. I haven't had such an exaggerated reaction to a simple provocation since reading - and responding to Greg Evans via email - a Luann comic illustrating teenage girls feeling validated by boys' catcalls. So, I realize the following message was a bit much, but I just meant it in a "hey, consider this viewpoint" kind of way. I even step all over all of my points and apologize profusely for even mentioning them, which is something to work on. It's hard to strike a balance between friendly and informative without sounding either meek or pretentious.

Hi X,

How are you? Is your semester going well? Things here are moving fast, but enjoyable. I am eager to see both Y and Z in just over a week, and all of you this December!

I just wanted to say something briefly about your status that isn't entirely necessary to mention, but just my observation and strong reaction. The quote you have up can be viewed as empowering and women-positive, yet at the same time there are a great deal of sexist ideas underlying every statement. I know you, as a woman, don't see women as pure baby-, meal- and homemakers who serve only to satisfy men's whims, but really, the message the quote sends really amplifies all the outdated, purely domestic traits associated with women.

Please don't take this as a rant or any sort of disgruntled rambling! I just felt the need to mention it and will openly admit that, as a liberal third wave feminist, taking a Psychology of Gender course and volunteering in the Womyn's Center on campus, I am hugely biased.

Hope you are well and this at the very least provided a distraction from homework.

-Sarah

Glee v. Stress

2009-09-29T23:20:00.002-07:00

Recently I have been stumbling through the semester, remaining happy, busy and lightly stressed. Tests, papers, quizzes, and hundreds of pages of reading loom over my head and stand out boldly on to-do list, underlined thrice and not without superfluous exclamation marks. Must know! Need to learn! Dear god study this or you shall perish! These are the notes I write to myself in the margins, next to doodles of mandalas, skeletons of giant sloths (a biology topic) and potential fonts. Nevertheless, I have managed to maintain perfectly legible and comprehensive notes, get my assignments in on time, do [a majority of] the reading and participate consistently in class. Go team?

Neuroscience has scared me sufficiently recently, what with all this talk of calcium channels, the parasympathetic nervous system, glial cells and all. We are jumping heavily into the science part so that we have the framework for later discussion, yes, yes, I see the big picture. The sheep brain dissection and test on brain parts and their functions were highly interesting and did not induce any sense of disgust. I am really enjoying the readings for my Psychology of Gender course and finally gaining the sociological/anthropological vocabulary I've always required - first-hand rather than through an affected, casual yet arrogant lecture by a postmodernist/Marxist romantic partner. Next semester I will partake in the roundtable (knights of the... and such, only hardly) discussion with professors and present a paper in the Gender Studies Symposium on the biological nature and social construction of gender.

Living in the German Language Community has proved rewarding, and while I am not able to spend as much time off campus as I would have hoped, it's not such a shame. I maximize my Saturdays as well as Friday nights, then work myself into a tizzy with homework on Sundays. This hasn't led to insanity yet, so I am hoping the pattern continues. Biking in Portland fills me with such inexplicable glee, and I am thrilled with the strong friendships I have formed with people around the city and on campus. There is a strong sense of freedom in every action of mine. Alles kann ich selbst entscheiden, gerade nachdem ich die Konsequenzen überlege. This is how young adult life functions, or so I've been told.

Cucumbers and Nectarines

2009-09-21T15:07:00.004-07:00

Being self-aware to a fault and constantly seeing behavior in terms of the context or situation are most likely two major hallmarks of being either a psychology major or someone far too interested in intra- and interpersonal conflicts. I realize that I observe and reflect with dangerous frequency, and that disassembling one's personality too often might result in an all-too-Freudian mash-up of id, ego and super-ego. Analyzing oneself to death does not sound like an appealing way to go.

Yet this is what I do, and what many of us do, and most of the time, it doesn't interfere with happiness. Emotions feel more pure and powerful this way, as if they have greater currency, but then they are so quickly spent. Greater emotional buying power leads to psychological debt? Odd notion. I will reject it for now.

For this reason, well-worded anecdotes or paragraphs can affect me so instantly and strongly. These sentences that appeared in Adbusters and described an intiguing girl with naked feet who breakfasts on sliced cucumbers and nectarines, are a perfect example:

"I see her on campus, sitting on the generally-vacant wooden benches, watching people pass in the same distant, pleasant way one watches a feel-good film."

Life has been so good lately and I try not to question it in hopes that it will stay this way.

On [Re]settling

2009-09-13T17:03:00.003-07:00

It has been extraordinarily surreal coming back to Portland and being at Lewis & Clark (College) once again. The taxi ride from the airport was the most extreme - and justly caused - bout of déja vu I had ever experienced. The driver was none other than the kind Russian man who drove my father and me the first time I came to Portland ever, and the third, when I returned alone. I would have been so agitated if I took the MAX first, what with the wait time, heavy luggage and more sitting in moving objects.

I had the most bizarre, sleep-deprivation induced dreams on the plane. One of them had me in an airbus, which my actual plane was as well, but it had a variety of transformative qualitites and at the end of the trip, we reached a tunnel in which the airplane mutated into a train/bus-like machine and we had to crawl up through the crevices like reverse spelunking. Another part of the dream was my imagined arrival in Portland. I flew over the city in the airbus - before I knew its true nature - and watched as every European city I had visited in the past year morphed to form a super city, with monuments and buildings from all, plus glorious bodies of water. There were some recognizable Portland elements and we flew through the streets, which were reminiscent of Seattle or San Francisco in hilliness.

I was and still am so overjoyed to be back in PDX. The day after my arrival, I went to a show at Mississippi Studios with my friend Sandra. Talkdemonic, a stunning Portland band, headlined the show. The opening band, Deelay Ceelay, had a visualizer with images related to the lyrics or electronic melody of the music. The second band, Church, was pretty fabulous, and the members moved like dinosaur puppets. The funny and interesting remark of how easily one could guess what a person is like while sexually intimate based on his/her moves onstage came up during the pause in performances. Honestly, try it sometime. You'll see.

You can sample some of the music and read a small blurb about the event here: http://www.melophobe.com/concert-reviews/talkdemonic-deelay-ceelay-church-mississippi-studios-portland-or/

While reacclimating, I came to the realization that I am now far less concerned about self-image than I was before Munich. Also, I have stopped feeling the need to edit or modify others, or be wary and nervous regarding how their appearance or behavior reflects on me through my association with them. It's much easier now to take people as they are without constantly [mentally] nit-picking or attempting to edify. Unlike my pre-college or even pre-Munich self, I don't give a damn anymore about others' hair length or preferred style of dress, and I stress less over whether two people I care about are completely harmonious in conversation. Instead I focus on whether they are kind to one another and there is platonic, romantic or familial love there to make the interaction and my reaction a calm, positive one. I have stopped obsessing over what my family thinks of whom I date, and in doing so, I have freed myself of a great deal of emotional unease and also happened to notice that the person I am now dating respects and is respected by my family.

This weekend was just as glorious as the last. I had a chance to enjoy the Belmont Street Fair, the sun, many cafés, some time to myself and much-needed biking from the college to SE. I no longer feel robbed of a Portland summer, as I was lucky enough to experience falling in love with this city all over again. I think it's happened four times now, whenever I return or feel newly free.

Zurich love

2009-09-06T18:12:00.007-07:00

These sentences are a small excerpt from my time in Zurich, written while tipsy. Pardon me. The message conveyed is still accurate, though, so I kept it:

I love Zurich and it’s multilingual bastardized yet highly intellectual nature. Ok, perhaps not just the academic but also the poor under-represented communities are of interest. Polyglotism. I am so ridiculously proud of being Swiss. Not über patriotic, just proud.

Hiking in the Alps

The bar on Langstr. where my cousin works

Painted community space

Last day – August 24th:
Sitting here at the river in the swimming area just across from Riminy Bar and the legal graffiti zone, I am feeling more at ease. I clashed a bit with my Mom earlier, as I am used to either being alone or with someone my age when moving from place to place in a city where I don’t own anything but ties to or interest in the culture. Zurich has never been foreign to me, and learning German (aber lieder nur Hochdeutsch…) has made it more accessible. Earlier today I strolled around Bahnhofstr. just because I felt like doing something mindless and automatic but still entertaining. I met with my Mom at the train station and we walked to a park, observing the small-scale BMX style event going on and hiding from the sun. I am going through withdrawals for my boyfriend/travel partner, yet I’ve been taking advantage of the day, creating a makeshift swimsuit out of a newly purchased top and pair of knickers I luckily had on hand, enjoying the cool, rapid water, the outdoor lounging/café area and the sea of tanned bodies against the bold neon graffiti backdrop. I think I see Gorbachov, covered up by a fuchsia bubble letter ‘Hello.”

Departure from Munich

2009-09-06T18:05:00.003-07:00

All of these disorganized contemplations were originally written down at the end of August, just before I returned to the US:

Soon everything in my microcosmic splice of the world will change.

Sadly I must say good-bye to Ivanna and Nicole in Munich and my relatives in Zürich, but in the U.S. I will be closer to my immediate family and friends, as well as everyone from the program who has now begun repatriation. I take great comfort in knowing that Emily and I will never be far apart, despite the evil geography may inflict the year after next.

When I am back in Portland, I will…
- Take out graphic novels from the public and Reed library and read them voraciously
- Get anatomy and botany books from the library, sketch the images
- Buy a pack of Cloves
- Organize what stuff I want to keep and what I can spare
- Get my bike repaired, take it in for a tune-up and ride all over SE
- See Cecily, Jenifer, Sandra
- Go in for a yoga session at Yoga Pearl
- Eat at Blossoming Lotus
- Rent LOTS of movies, start up Netflix again
- Have my first legal US drink in a bar
- Visit all the places to which I feel so connected

Am I ready to sum up Munich yet? Not thoroughly, but I can start to process it all. Often I need to do this once I have left a place and gotten both physical and emotional distance from it. It’s certainly true (though no less pretentious) to claim that a year abroad can mature a person tremendously, but like everyone else, I did a lot of this in the last year of high school and first two years of college. This time, however, it’s been entirely my own doing. No boy has helped me learn what I wanted while I’ve been in Munich. If anything, perhaps I’ve seen a bit more clearly with P. and C. what dating is like when you don’t constantly see the person. My pacing is all sorts of messed up.

Stockholm

2009-09-06T17:25:00.010-07:00

Most delayed post ever.

Classes have started up again and I am back in Portland. As I was in Zürich for two weeks, distracted by lovely people and without my laptop, the Stockholm post never made the leap from paper to blog form. Then there was the whole falling in love with Portland all over again, which demanded my full attention and a good week. Yet I typed up all of this earlier and want to follow through just to tie loose ends. Here is the tardy but just as worthwhile collection of observations and musings from Sweden:

Friday, July 31st
I'm quite satisfied and sleepy at the moment. Södermalm, the area where I am staying, is apparently the hipster hang out neighborhood. The streets are filled with numerous second-hand shops and cafés. I was feeling lackadaisical, so as I worked my way over to a highly recommended, cheap vegetarian restaurant for lunch, I dawdled in front of and within some of these shops, resisting temptation except for a long glass bead necklace and two handmade espresso cups. Walking out of the hostel after dropping off my heavier bag, I felt that loneliness creeping up again and started to miss friends and access to the internet. This is likely because the city reminds me so strongly of London - in terms of price, high fashion, diversity, enormity and a stunning metro system - and I remember what fun I had in London with Monica. Zur zweit zu reisen macht alles viel angenehmer.

Flying in today was remarkable for the view - I had never really processed the fact that Sweden is made up of a land mass and countless small islands. It looked as if a toddler had let globs of wet sand plop into a low tide pool; such was the disorder and frenzy with which they seemed to be arranged.

Vintage, vegetarian, a third V fails me here, but I shall have to do with these for the time being. Seems more than survivable. I saw a lot of this island and the surroundings of Central Station today before pausing at a cemetery with a beautiful church and riding the Katarina elevator up for a glorious panoramic view. It's hilly here like San Francisco or Seattle, and there is a great alternative newspaper that rivals The Mercury or The Stranger in quality and wit. Parts were in English, which was appreciated.

I also explored a small library today and was thrilled with how the rooms were organized by genre, each with its own theme. Sci-fi/fantasy had a dragon lurking in the corner, plush pillows and dark color tones. The teen section included photos by a local photographer of Stockholm youth and their stories to match, while the reading area looked incredibly Seussical, with bold red carpeted steps to sit on and a swirly felt plant to keep readers company. Seeing a flyer for the free film evenings that occur every Friday, I was overcome with the desire to watch many an Ingmar Bergman film back in Portland, making a night of it and taking advantage of Netflix or Movie Madness once more.

Ok. Today shall be full of relaxation and tomorrow of art. Fair deal. People-watching is a marvelous hobby. Oh how cute bikers as well as boys with large-framed glasses and messenger bags flock this city! Further observations of my species today include the outrageous number of blonde pregnant women I have seen today. How many within the span of a few hours, you ask? Thirteen. 13! Industrious people. Perhaps Swedes are taking over the future? Judging from Ikea and Smörgåsbord, it doesn't seem too bleak. This is enough to make me doubt that the birth rate in Western Europe is still falling dramatically... and apparently only 15% of Swedes are blonde and 30% have blue eyes. I need to work with combinations and permutations to figure out why the fraction of pregnant, blonde, blue-eyed Swedish women all pooled together within my line of sight. Yes, yes. Selective perception and confirmation bias, I knowww.

Plans
Saturday: Kulturhuset, National Museum, St. Jakobs Kyrka, Moderna Museet, cafés
Sunday: Street, Grandpa, Judits Second Hand, Stadsbibliotheket, cafés + restaurants
Monday: breakfast! Relax, drink coffee, browse shops and read in the park

Saturday, August 1st
Psst... Swiss National Day! For some reason I felt compelled to record my first thought of the day in terrible morning handwriting: "I often find myself in the initial stages of waking up, when you attempt separate dreams from reality." It's odd how that first thought feels like an epiphany when you awake and like nonsense later on. After this false brilliance (mediocrity is my specialty, really), I set off to overdose on art once again. Later I wrote:

I just gulped down a cappuccino after three hours at Moderna Museet, two at the National Art Museum before that and a significant amount of time ogling the many rooms of the Kulturhuset, Stockholm’s public center for visual and performing arts. They have a noteworthy and extensive graphic novel collection, a modern and inviting layout – it’s an enormous building, but doesn’t suffer any loss of warmth or comfort as a result – and a fantastic space for young people to create all forms of projects, from collaged greeting cards to iron-on patch designs. There are multiple little galleries within the mammoth building, and particularly enthralling is a film piece in the first exhibition room I entered.

The concept used has been applied many times before, but the artist managed to make it feel novel. He affixed a small video camera to his head and recorded his movement all over the city. Occasionally the perspective would switch to show his back, from the head to waist, or pull further out and show him from afar, but the viewer never glimpsed his face. Mostly it had the feeling of a non-violent first person shooter and it felt like seeing what the hit man or the guy from Splinter Cell does on his off day. The video game feel was strengthened when he would pick up an object and it glowed a little – like when you find a health pack in a game, or like when Mario finds a power-up mushroom. One object was a giant red flower, which gradually lost its yellow glowing aura until he gifted it to a passing woman. The transfer was lovely and both she and the flower glowed. At several points, he threw a one-cent coin into a fountain or lake, and with that, the entire area lit up with the same yellow glow. Also, towards the end of the film, he hiked up a remote hill further away from the city, and every time he glanced back at it over his shoulder, the entirety of Stockholm was illuminated.

The visit to the National Art Gallery was a nice and peaceful one, and I particularly enjoyed the exhibits of Swedish design and of the black and white photographs from Hans Hammarskiöld. If you find yourself in Stockholm but without too much money (a right tragedy in this costly city), note that the National Art Gallery has one free exhibit and the Kulturhuset has several free galleries. Now that I reconsider it, I am not disappointed that I didn’t go to Brandström & Steve, a design gallery and showroom, as the exhibit in Kulturhuset on transforming everyday objects and how we relate to design (hi, Objectified) was significant and enjoyable enough. I am still thinking of that glorious treeless tree house in Charlottenborg, in Copenhagen. I want to sew imaginary creatures and create dioramas using postcards and photos of the Swiss Alps as a background. I want to make stop motion films, take beautiful black and white photos, write comic books. I want to scream from having swallowed so much of others’ creative output in these past few days and not producing enough of my own. I could explode with unused ideas and anxiousness. I need to talk talk talk to someone and eject all this rushed, violently loud energy from myself. I continue to read until my brain has grown bloated with images and perfect, exquisite story-telling from “Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close.” I am devouring so much, a dangerous amount of cultural material and it’s making me anxious to move around rapidly. I will not see the Dance Museum here; I cannot stare at old ballet slippers behind glass and still shots of famously choreographed dances. I need my bike and love and to be surrounded by people until I can’t stand them anymore.

Yes, tomorrow is for markets. Last night I spoke for a half hour with a cool Dutch girl, and earlier with an Argentine guy who studied civil engineering and saw so much of Europe for the first time in the past seven months. In these conversations I liked the articulate, mature version of myself that I presented, but in actuality I am redundant, just recycling ideas discussed with just as much passion but another individual twenty-four hours previous. Oh. My heart just leapt as I glanced over the glass table with postcards, candy wrappers, business cards and flyers wedged underneath and recognized a MACBA ticket stub. The contemporary art museum in Barcelona, a two-minute bike ride or seven-minute walk from where I lived, was a place I frequented heavily in March. I will avoid saying something trite like ‘it’s a small world,’ but now you know I am thinking it and thus I cannot hide from the cliché tackiness of it all. That’s quite all right, really. Uff. It's nearly 5 o'clock. My legs and feet ache terribly from walking miles through museums. I cannot tackle one more today. Peace of mind is required.

Sunday, August 2nd
Last night I opted for socialization with pricks rather than more alone relaxation, drawing or reading time. I still cannot say whether this was the best decision, but I know I would have slightly regretted it if I hadn’t made the effort. I can be by myself whenever. I shouldn’t go out of my way to do so in Stockholm. After a day of museums and seemingly enormous and rapid thoughts screaming through my head, demanding to be expanded on or at least processed, I went out with the Irish rugby team from my hostel. Oh lord. I knew exactly what to expect, though, so I just had two beers (on the team’s tab, which I didn’t argue) and talked mostly with a German girl from the hostel who lives in Munich (!) and will begin studying psychology at LMU this fall (!!). I emphatically recommended professor Öllinger, whom I had Winter semester. The Dutch girls and the Italian guys were also fun, though one of the Italians seemed particularly edgy due to the volume of the team. Some members were actually rather nice – most of them meant well, anyway – and I learned a lot about women’s rugby from a female player. Violent sport but definitely more interesting than football.

It was so good to speak German with the other girl, and we were guilty of using it as a linguistic secret weapon against the Irishmen. The Dutch girls caught some of it and giggled along. When we headed back, we complained breathlessly and not without agitation about one particularly moronic guy. I mentioned how much more I enjoy and appreciate my own friends, now realizing that people with such idiotic behavior exist in the world. But ok, this is not the time or place to linger on such ideas. I am going to a market and then one more gallery (this is a crazy undertaking, I’ve already come to terms with that) and the library today. Sadly, nothing opens until noon, so I am sitting at a picnic table in the fairytale-like Högandsparken now. I’ve taken to breakfasting on trail mix, apples and bread in the miniscule grassy area behind the hostel in the mornings while watching the dog-walkers pass. Ah Street should be open by now… at the early hour of 11! Brief warning if you come here in August or late July: many restaurant owners are on vacation. Three apparently wonderful restaurants I wanted to dine in yesterday were ALL closed. It was somewhat lousy, as each was a backup for the previous disappointment. I was not too heartbroken, though, as I found sushi and cookies at the end of the journey. Also, my navigational skills have become superb, which is great fun and surely a result of frequently traveling alone. Success!

Later:
I am feeling a bit melancholy. Street, the large marketplace and ongoing art fest appears to be hibernating. My shins hurt terribly from too much walking (in practical shoes, however) and I’d like to move on now, but it’s somewhat mandatory to take a break. There is a pretty park here by the water where I tried to lie down before being bombarded with cigarette butts and prickly grass beneath me. Distraught, I followed the river to a place where willow trees skim the water’s surface and there are actual lily pads. It’s just as polluted here, but the sound of the water and tugboats going by is calming. It’s weird getting depressed for no apparent reason. The walls of one café/bar here are covered with giant flower mosaics with fractured mirrors as a background. It’s right next to the freeway, which adds an industrial, concrete feel, like that of North Portland – half gentrified, half mechanical and poor. The factories on the other side of the river make this comparison complete.

12:40pm
So I retract what I said before, though it was accurate in that small window of time. Going into a neighboring café was a lovely move and didn’t feel monotonous in the way I had feared, i.e. too much of a good thing/overdosing in café culture. It happened to be vegetarian, inexpensive and equipped with a marvelously quirky interior. Sitting with my coffee and perfectly sized sandwich while looking out at the water, I am content. Minutes before, I felt swarmed by cigarette buts, bumblebees and empty glass bottles. Now I look out and notice how terrifically the bikes are arranged along the railing, in an above/below, diagonal/straight pattern. What I especially love about these vegetarian artsy and cheap cafés in Stockholm (or about the two I’ve experienced so far is the table where you grab silverware and other items. In addition to napkins and such things, there is a bounty of free food and drink. An extravagantly prepared salad with fresh vegetables, whole wheat and often homemade bread or Wassa crackers, butter, four different pitchers of water, one with lemon slices, another with orange, a third either with cucumber or plain and a fourth dyed red by the raspberries swimming at the bottom. There are generally pots of strong coffee and black tea as well, which is fantastic. You are assumed to require a great deal of caffeine, having come in search of it and all. There is also an implied sense of trust in this, as you are expected not to take advantage of the system and sneak twelve pieces of bread.

Another element that aided in my mood change earlier was noticing a group of four young travelers who looked from their map to the place where Street should be with obvious frustration. Kindred spirits! I just saw them walk by the front window, seemingly less downtrodden. I believe I was also deeply affected by the book (Jonathan Safran Foer’s), as the issues of mortality and loss of family members are constantly addressed, and the characters are impossible not to relate to. This is no Brecht-like non-Aristotelian literature where you are made to observe and ponder the characters’ situations without empathizing, that much is certain.

It’s also becoming my favorite book, taking the place of “Eva Luna” and “One Hundred Years of Solitude,” which are in an ongoing battle of magical realism for first place on the list. As it is my potential favorite book – though I am aware of how pointless it is to set apart any book as more meaningful or good because of my personal liking of it, a person is allowed to have a specific taste – it feels as if I have developed a relationship with it, and I can’t bear the thought of it ending. Just described in the last chapter read was the main character’s grandfather’s experience of the Dresden bombing; how they shot the carnivores that got loose at the zoo, how everything was on fire and soon reduced to rubble, how the bodies were collected by the river - 220 altogether, four of which ended up ‘coming back to life’ after hours of unconsciousness.

I know this is a work of fiction, but this event is real, too real, and my Oma lived it. I have never discussed the bombing with my Oma, but I know she fled soon after, as the Russians came. I know of her childhood and teenage years in Dresden, of her uncle’s farm where she played with her cousin, and of how that farm is now part of Poland. I know the two of them once used the pigs’ feeding trough as a boat and took off at full speed down the creek. She later worked on a farm collective with other women as part of the wartime duty, and she once loved a soldier whose ring she lost on the day he died. I know she slipped into Switzerland despite it being highly dangerous, how she worked as an au pair and housekeeper for her older cousin’s family in the French part of the country, but couldn’t understand the butcher’s bastardized Swiss-influenced French. All of these things have made themselves known to me through her recollection of anecdotes, but I don’t believe I can ever bring myself to ask about the bombings.

The hipsters are all awake and flocking the street. Stockholm doesn’t wake up until noon on Sundays, it appears, so it makes sense that the galleries and libraries should act accordingly. A man just passed clutching eight baguettes in his arms and I mistook them for an infant. There was something so loving about how he handled them. How can I even think to leave this café? As usual, I am hiding behind a wall so that the terribly friendly and stylish barista will neither see me nor judge the length of my stay. I promise I will not abuse the free coffee, as I’ve just had a cup! Someone is adding to the bike pattern. Shame, though, he chose to be conventional and rest it on the ground. The elevated bikes on the railing always seem to be in motion, which I prefer.

Unrelated Aside:
This notebook [in which I originally recorded these musings] is my equivalent to a person to turn to for shared laughter and acknowledgement – “Did you SEE that?” – which, at face value seems rather pessimistic and morose, but I’ll take irritatingly redundant and inconcrete self-reflection over drunken Irishmen any day. Does this seem too selective? I don’t really give a damn if it does and this question is entirely rhetorical, yet it’s becoming increasingly more apparent that I’ve started to look to Susan Sontag as an ideal. Careful now, that will only bring trouble.

Really though, I was without the notebook for several hours in the city and became horribly agitated. It was like like being without my travel companion. Tonight was nice, however, and I explored, went back to Chutney (vegetarian restaurant of my previous raving), window-shopped and spent time in a park.

Monday, August 3rd, nearly 10am
It’s hard to see individuals who are highly self-aware nevertheless let others control their actions. R., the Dutch girl with whom I spoke for such a long time the first night, is frustrated with her friend and travel partner, who keeps going out and partying, then sleeping half the day away. Understandably, R. feels that they haven’t experienced as much of Stockholm as a result of this behavior. She lamented the fact that they have been to the zoo, but not a single museum. “If she wanted a party vacation,” R. said about her friend, “we could have just gone to Spain.” I invited her for coffee and breakfast, an offer which she considered and seemed to appreciate, but ultimately she chose to call her mother and ask her advice on the situation. Naturally I was sad not to be of more help, but there were many other factors, which we briefly discussed, causing her to be upset. I nearly wanted to shake her at one point – you know what you want! Don’t let others push you around!

In other news, I am flitting away my last few hours in Stockholm on a bench at the grassy patch by a plaza. Café? The more I write, the more of my book I save for the flight and layover. It’s so tempting, though! Also, the Kulturhuset is closed Mondays, so my original plan to hang out there until I board the shuttle has been shot. Oh, hell with it. I will read my book until the end, then browse bookshops in the airport and sleep on the plane. I’ve seen a magnificent amount of this city and don’t feel that I missed out on anything crucial I was dying to see. Favorite parts? Second-hand vintage shops, the reflective and sparkling water, Moderna Museet and the two vegetarian eateries. The creative space in the Kulturhuset is surely my absolute favorite aspect, though.

I just wrote four postcards to my aunt and uncle, grandmother, brother and sister-in-law and parents. I feel a dangerous hand cramp coming on due to all the writing. Oh! I can’t wait to bike through the English Garden again! I’ve missed Munich, to be quite honest. It’s not Berlin, but for one year, it was mine. It’s interesting that when I travel and when I am not visiting family, but planning it all out on my own or with friends, I choose only cities. The countryside is gorgeous, of course, but I want to absorb as much culture and history in the few days I have as possible, so cities seem optimal. Plan for the next few hours: pick up food at a grocery store, browse around in shops once more, take the metro to the library, play there, head back to Central Station, take the bus, get to the airport, check in and dawdle until the flight.

As a result of the BCN incident, I have vowed to be absurdly early for flights from henceforth. Rather one hour early than ten minutes late. I’d like to keep what little money I have.

In a stroke of genius, I opted to create my own sandwich instead of buying one of the overpriced, bland, non-vegetarian options and just removing the meat. A half-inch slice of brie and a streak of butter on a droopy, lackluster piece of bread masquerading as a baguette? Appetizing. I bought garlic bread and a wheat role, a red pepper and a small tin of black olives. Pepper and olive slices on garlic bread are inordinately delicious, it would seem. After I ate in the sun, next to the well-manicured flowers, I casually made my way over to the library, as I’d have been somewhat disappointed not to have seen the interior. It was stunning and awe-inspiring, and I so loved the feeling of being engulfed by the immense, rounded shelves. I grabbed a book of Pushkin poems, Douglas Coupland’s “JPod”, a tiny book of drawings and Jack Kerouac’s posthumously published play “The Beat Generation.” I became engrossed in “JPod” and gobbled through 60 pages of it in that marvelous library.

10:25pm
Planes, trains and automobiles. Today has been full of prolonged transportation or waiting to get on the next form of transport. The S-Bahn to Marienplatz takes SO LONG, and I’ve fished my book, read the Herald Tribune cover to cover, drawn, depleted my iPod battery and taken a multitude of naps. The fact that I haven’t eaten anything substantial since a small yogurt in Copenhagen at 6:30pm and the glorified sandwich at 1pm before then is starting to wear on me. Perhaps a friend at Stusta will be awake and willing to feed me? Don’t set your hopes too high, there. There is basmati rice at home, oil and some spices… That may be sufficient, though far from interesting.

Five more stops! The rain beats down the walls and windows of the train.

I miss carrots, avocados and blueberries. Frankly, I miss my mother quite a bit as well, and am anxious about having to share her with Oma and the Bauers soon. Ohjeohjeohje. Baldbaldbald. Bald is soon auf Deutsch. When you rewrite or repeat a word so much, it loses its particular meaning and becomes part of a pattern, visual or auditory. God I am tired, and eager to cease this chaos of constant motion. This doesn’t happen until PDX. Soonsoonsoon.

Zürich and last days in Munich update still to come.

For the Love of Libraries

2009-08-06T16:13:00.005-07:00

On Tuesday evening, my friend M. told me of this library, one of the largest in the world dedicated to children's literature, that is in an old castle and within zone one on the metro/bus system, just an hour away. We make plans to go, and on Wednesday we set out, each with our small food supply for the trip and what we assumed would be a long stay at the library. We talktalktalk on the way there, but once we reach the spot, we see that it is completely magical and are momentarily struck by silence and awe. It is like a tucked away cove in Munich that everyone remains hushed about; there are bike paths that sprawl out over the whole area
and a gigantic field of sunflowers, straight from the cover of Everything is Illuminated.

The tiny old castle looks more like a church, and has a little moat, plus a lake and a stream nearby. People are out sunning, eating and laughing loudly at the restaurant as their skin freckles and browns. We later got ice cream, after hours of reading, and watched the bikers go by and the sunflowers continuously stretch toward the sun. First, though, we went to the study halls, where there were desk areas, like cubicles without the walls, with plenty of space to spread out books and research. There were so many marvelous books, and I spent forever with one written in 1862 called The Science of Fairy-Tales. It was incredible and had an entire chapter dedicated to story-telling. My mind is full of these stories and theories, on which I took extensive notes. There was a gallery dedicated to Eric Carle, one of my favorite children's book authors and illustrators - the one who did The Hungry, Hungry Caterpillar. He is German-American and spent half of his life in each country. For this reason, in addition to his talent, German educators love him. There are even Eric Carle pillows and mugs with the caterpillar's image.

A crazy event was going on outdoors in the same caterpillar theme. Gaggles of children and their parents were making masks, building things, screaming a bit, and playing in a fabric tunnel. One girl had a butterfly painted on her face, but on either side of her mouth rather than on her cheek.
She looked like she could swallow everything.

We went over to the library soon after, where there were so many different sections, each divided by language. I especially loved a book of tales by Jim Henson, or later adapted by him, at least. M. got Where the Wild Things Are in Russian, since she just wanted to use the pictures for ideas in an art project. I had a book on anatomy and started drawing the heart, and another book that I remember reading once I upgraded to chapter books in school. It was called The Borrowers and had to do with tiny people who live under the floorboards and in the walls, like mice. They hang stamps on their walls like paintings, use thimbles as pots and carpet swatches as rugs. I remember being fascinated by it as a child.

Københvn (2)

2009-08-04T18:44:00.014-07:00

The chronicle of my Copenhagen tales continues.

12:45pm, July 29th:
I made my own bike tour for free!

Just a moment. Before I expand on this, it must be said that four middle-aged German women just passed, all wearing identical white capris. What’s more, all but one wore matching black shirts. The fourth woman, who donned a hot pink shirt vest, didn’t get the second memo, I believe.

Regarding the DIY tour: geographical skills + + +
I made it all over the place, biking like a Dane on one of the city bikes, courtesy of Copenhagen’s bike share program. You put 20 crowns, which is approximately 2,70 Euro into the slot, unlock the bike and proceed to gallivant around on two wheels. The deposit is returned if you find one of the racks elsewhere and drop off the bike. On the handlebars is a map of the city (mine was ripped off, but I wasn’t dissuaded in the least) and the seats are rather cushy and comfortable. The bikes are designed for travelers, as Copenhageners statistically own two bikes each. The share program is encouraging and more widespread than in Barcelona, or in most cities, for that matter!

After dropping off the bike and walking around a bit, I stepped into Overgaden, a small gallery filled with contemporary Danish artists’ work. I liked the feel of it a great deal and actually got a lot more substance out of an essay one artist wrote about his work than his actual creation of stacked soda cans. Articulate man, weird execution. I then strolled over to Café Wilder, a place I’d highly and emphatically recommend. It has the best atmosphere and great, inexpensive organic food. Everything tasted so fresh and crisp, but as I am not a food critic, I’ll trail off here. My legs, especially my upper thighs, are unbelievably sore from the night of dancing and few hours on the bicycle. This is the good kind of pain, though; the kind that reminds you that you are living. Oh, another note about the café: they play music from Jack Johnson’s first album, which is always remarkably effective in putting me at ease. Two other minor observations were that of a father teaching his toddler the names of different draft beers and the conclusion that Danish sounds like Simlish mixed with French and Dutch.

I became so enthralled in an exhibit at Charlottenborg, the contemporary art museum, that they had to usher me out at closing. Lonely Planet lied and claimed the hours went until 7pm on Wednesdays, but I was promised that I could return tomorrow, free of charge. Now I am in Kongens Have, or the King’s Gardens, relaxing after the overwhelming nature of Christiania and a great deal of walking. I think I’ll nap and mellow out with a Radiolab podcast before heading back to Nørrebro to find a small restaurant that serves veggie burgers. I’ve an irrationally powerful craving for one right now, and the walnuts and raisins do not suffice. A short note on Christiania: no photos are allowed to be taken there, which perhaps lets it retain a bit of its magic, but I will say that it’s a combination of Saturday Market, a modernized hippie commune and the Sunnyside neighborhood in Portland. It didn’t feel like Santa Cruz, oddly enough. I bought a turquoise ring and abruptly stopped myself while admiring the pattern on a pair of those wretched bohemian balloon pants now in fashion.

Later that evening:
Two housemates just went dumpster diving, biking off into the night armed with multiple plastic bags and grungy clothing. This made me think of my friend N. as well as a girl I used to work with during the summers. We once salvaged decent cupcakes from a ritzy specialty bakery in SE Portland on 4th of July and ate them together with apples taken from a community garden while we watched the fireworks in a park. I’ve recalled this memory numerous times, yet it still feels accurate and good, despite the difficult emotional backdrop it stood against. The dumpster divers are back with a [purchased] bottle of wine and some organic cookies that taste of chocolate dust. In the background, the Juno soundtrack minus Kimya Dawson songs is playing. Piazza, New York Catcher, one of my favorite songs of all time, was just on. Ok, wine. Adieu.

July 30th
I stopped at the botanical gardens today on the way to the Staatens Museum for Kunst. It was, without a doubt, one of the most spiritual moments I have experienced since doubting and then rejecting the validity of what religion could offer me in terms of explanation and comfort. I idled around outside at first, comparing it to the Portland Rose Garden or the Desert Botanical Gardens in Arizona. I circled the greenhouses and was initially distraught by their shut doors. Then I found a lake with willow trees, lily pads and a small rowboat just down the hill. It was nearly identical to how I had imagined the backyard in Sophie’s World. I was entirely at peace there and just stood, taking in the serenity of it all in the lightly falling rain.

Shortly after, I made my way up to a gazebo-style greenhouse full of trees. If there was ever a trace of doubt in my conversion to lover of science and its beauty in nature, it evaporated in this instant. At first I walked the perimeter of each room, eyeing the tropical and familiar plants alike. As I came closer to the final room and the air turned thick and muggy, I dove straight into the heart of the area and relished in the divine greenery all around. It was quite fitting and certainly over-the-top that I wore a dress covered with a leafy pattern and golden brown leaf earrings today. I felt like an unintentional chameleon, blending in with the trees.

I smiled at the enormous dog ear leaves that licked my face as I passed and marveled at the elaborate dangling flowers, which posed motionless and with complete grace. The walls were glass windows and, though such bright light was let in, branches and trunks had entangled themselves to form impressive crevices and dark, mysterious corners. The rounded metal object at the top of each greenhouse room looked rather like a chandelier, and vines had taken the liberty of crawling up the sides of walls and railings to reach it, creating a circus tent effect. In the final room, I was beside myself with oversized water lilies, numerous rare trees and spiraling antique staircases that stood out like a Victorian house in the jungle. I climbed one staircase and took it all in while having vaguely megalomaniacal but mostly light-hearted thoughts like, “this is your kingdom!” Simba must have felt the same when looking over the Pridelands. Beautiful, beautiful place.

Now I’ve just reached the Staatens Museum for Kunst, which is enormous and kostenlos. I must tell Steve of the “Flying Steamroller” piece outside that looks like a NASA flight simulator device holding a medium-sized steamroller. Truction truck, as baby Steve would say. Really I have no idea as to the accuracy of this story, as I was negative five to three years old. Still though, I think he’d love this creation.

Oi. Just spent two hours in the museum and now I’m taking a break for soup in the café, This is painfully oversimplified, but the only way to describe the collection is ‘thought-provoking.’ So for the time being, I am stewing in my own thoughts and far too preoccupied to write them down. It’s raining today, which, truthfully, is fairly comforting. The rain is something to rely on, in a way.

Later:
On the now sunny steps outside Charlottenborg, I play with ladybug and am thrilled by the absurd truth that this is not just any aphid, but a Danish one. This detail alone doesn’t cause it to differ from its North American ladybug brethren, but something about it still seems novel. Charlottenborg is among my favorite museums on this earth. The ‘Culture Camping: spend the night in a museum’ event occurs every Friday, and beds with white linen have been pushed together in the center of the room for this activity. Visitors are encouraged to sleep there during opening hours as well, and I was pleased to oblige. From the ceiling hang hundreds of long white ropes, evenly spaced out to form a vast expanse of unconventional stars at 90-degree angles. They do not touch you upon sitting up, but lightly brush the top of your head. Lying on my back, looking up at them, I was reminded of that old Windows screensaver in which you were constantly zooming through a pixilated, planetless galaxy. Today is all about finding Zen, I suppose.

Eventually:
I purchased lovely new pens and am now very pleased with the world. Other activities included forgoing the design museum due to a distraction caused by the charming but outrageously pricey Urban Outfitters. Oh capitalism, how you lure me with your make-believe harmless talons. My excuse, though none should be permitted, is that the chain does not exist in Munich, and I never saw a store on my previous travels. I am on a never-ending quest to find a second pair of these perfect jeans I bought there two years ago. If you had these pants, you’d understand. I actually needed a moment to process all the art I consumed recently as well, and was not so much in the mood to rush through the design museum.

Ha. The World Out Games are going on and several clips from related films or performances are being broadcast in the square below my coffee shop vantage point. Two female performers were just doing things onstage that would make Madonna blush crimson and Britney or Christina cover their eyes and giggle. To dwell further on my failure to make it to the third museum, however, I’ll also argue that I bought the pens out of inspiration to produce my own work, so there. This microscopic shopping spree of six felt-tip pens and a blouse has reduced me to a five-year-old, it seems. At least I’m a five-year-old drinking a cappuccino. Oh lord, could there be anything worse?

The Danes who work in the service industry are insanely fluent in English, and no matter how much I strain to say hej and tak, the moment I order an Italian-sounding coffee, they’re on to me and my English-speaking ways. I find it fairly relieving, honestly. “Ok, you can continue to say hi and thank you, but when we require real sentences, cut the charade,” they smirk. Clever multilingual Danes.

At a plaza there were musicians playing traditional Incan music with wooden flutes, wearing Navaho headdresses and moccasins. My geography bone hurt.

That night:
My last evening in Copenhagen left me drowsy during the early morning flight to Stockholm, but the marvel of it all was worth it. All the collective housemates, plus three friends and three couchsurfers (myself among them), dined and drank together late into the night. I really connected with the newest couchsurfer from Melbourne and we had simultaneous and spastic bouts of glee upon hearing of all the films, music, people and places the other had no knowledge of but would surely love. We switched notebooks and furiously wrote down everything we could think of for one another that seemed somehow relevant. R., the couchsurfer, studies photography and just finished a semester in New York. Now she’s come to Copenhagen for another semester abroad before returning to Australia. I was at once envious of and glad not to be in her position – at the beginning of the abroad experience.

We smoked Parliaments and I thought of all the hyper-stressed debaters I knew; we occasionally remembered to socialize with the others at the table, who enjoyed their own parallel worlds, and we exchanged contact information. A friend of O.’s, who told of how she got lucky through a start-up company with her former professor involved in promoting arts and culture in Scandinavia, began playing the violin and making skat noises. Soon after, O. found the King Louie Jungle Book song online and we all sang along, transported back to our childhoods in the process. I wanna be like you-oooh-oooh, do everything that you do-oooh-oooh. I wanna walk like you, talk like you, oh yeaah! Come now, don’t say the song is not magical.

Oh, I am so tired and content.

Whimsical Copenhagen (1)

2009-08-04T17:46:00.008-07:00

Upon my return to Bavaria yesterday, a friend asked how my ‘fantastic voyage’ had been. I replied that my bones were weary but I felt so full mentally. My ‘dream gallery,’ which is something that will make little sense here, even when explained, but has to do with lucid dreaming and the REM cycle, was especially wonderful during those nights of travel or when I fell asleep on the metro. This was largely influenced by the plethora of images I was exposed to in the past few days. My head, I went on, is crammed to the point of extremity, but it’s a good kind of chaos and overload.

In addition this madness and delight, I read and finished the best book of my [relatively young] life, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. While I am already susceptible to empathizing with fictional characters too strongly, never before have I identified with or adored any figure more than Oskar Schell. Read this book immediately if you have not already done so.

I documented the Copenhagen trip in tall, skinny notebook with interwoven designs of deep purple and green. This book was, for all purposes, my travel companion during the journey, and quite a good one at that. Who else would receive my observations, witty and banal alike, in such a welcoming manner? For your benefit, I’ll only reproduce the mildly or more interesting segments here and leave the more mind-numbing or personal aspects on the pages bound together by string.

On July 28th, the date of my departure, my good friend S. and I discussed potential travel plans for next summer while drinking tea and eating plums in my room in Munich. Included among these fantastical what-ifs was a road trip into the Deep South with J. and then on to Chicago to see friends at Northwestern. I have been harboring this desire to see Savannah and Atlanta, Georgia, as well as St. Paul, plus New Orleans and some of the Midwest, namely Minneapolis, Minnesota and Topeka, Kansas. The urge and momentum behind all this is the necessity of seeing more of my home country than just my West Coast and Southwestern corner. I want to become educated about the US in the way that I have during this past year, in more than just a surface level fashion, about Europe. Visual and exploratory learning is what I mean by this. Perhaps this is why we travel – or why I do, at least – to collect these powerful images and memories out of which we can form a personal gallery. No, not perhaps. This is a definite reason for travel or merely living more fully and intensely. I am an avid collector of memories, it seems.

During the wait period before the flight, I sat in the airport, watching men in stiff business suits and a little boy playing with dinosaurs while his sister dressed her dolls and his mother yawned in a chair, flipping through a magazine.

Later that day, at 4:05pm (June 28th):
Shortly we’ll land in Berlin. Hello, lovely city. I adore you. Don’t believe for an instant that you’ll never see the likes of me again.

I then proceeded to draw for some time. Among said doodles was a computer as a dementor, as it is quite a life-sucking box of diversion and fun. The metaphor isn’t too accurate in terms of adjectives, but I’ll ignore this if you will. More drawings included a mandala, a beer bottle used as a flower vase and the oddly futuristic paper towel dispenser in the airport restroom.

The security and staff at Berlin’s Tegel Airport are amusing and adorable. The man at the check-in counter started speaking to me in Spanish. ¿A Dónde va? I think the bangs are what cause me to be taken for a Spaniard, but I like this mistake a rather lot and shall refrain from complaint. Another man at the security and bag check area allowed someone to first go through the metal detector and then down his Apfelschorle, which was far above the standard liquid allowance. “Auf X!” the employee bellowed encouragingly, as if the man were drinking a beer. He congratulated him at the end and promptly gave directions to the next bathroom. Ah! Such hilarity and perfect delivery. Rampant overgeneralization: modern Berliners are a light-hearted bunch.

Arrival
Copenhagen proves to be a stunningly beautiful city populated with absurdly fashionable young hipsters, none of which even border on overweight. So this is where the fashionista robots are made! I am by the river in Nørrebro, a marvelous location full of cafés, bars and vintage shops. There is more than a sufficient amount of high quality street art, and I am beside myself with pleasure.

I don’t know if I will really do anything this evening, as I got in later (though thankfully it’s still light out), aside from take a few photos of my surroundings and socialize with the co-op people. Just earlier, a friend of the group and I talked briefly of India and Nepal, where she had spent some months traveling and teaching. My knowledge of the countries is entirely textbook-based, but extensive enough to permit informed discussion. I bought a bottle of inexpensive red wine at a grocery store in hopes of bonding with the housemates through alcohol and as a token of appreciation for their hospitality. I love how these people live amidst the chaos of parallel creative projects but with some semblance of structure and tidiness.

Tangent – some observations:
Surrounding me are strollers and small animals. There are fledgling ducks, whose head feathers are all ruffled, as if they used a styling product to get the intended messy look. They are not such babies, I realize upon closer inspection, and are more like preteen ducks in actuality. Still uncontrollably cute, though. The woman to my left has a small dog that Em would throw fits of joy over. Scottish terrier? He bounds across the grass in that way little legless dogs do. The ducks seem to litter the water and there are hoards of them. Does their quantity subtract from their fluffy adorableness? Not in the slightest, but this saccharine topic is making me feel a little crazy. At least seven of the girls who just passed on the dirt pathway in front of me have been wearing those damn gladiator shoes, which are everywhere, really. Ok, I should plan tomorrow, but all I want to do is read more of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. I already pummeled through 70 pages today. Must. Enjoy. Slowly. Do not devour! It is a dark chocolate. Genieß es langsam, bitte.

July 29th:
Last night was splendid, to use my grandmother’s favored adjective. The housemates, their friends and I sat in the kitchen/dining/living room and exchanged stories over wine and beer. It got late and all but two other souls and I headed to bed. We continued discussing film, linguistics ad the obscene cost of education. Earlier one had mentioned some screenings going on as part of a larger festival, and it was then suggested that we casually make our way over. I was lent a bike far too high for me but in wonderful condition, and we pedaled off across the bridge, first to the park, which seemed to be dead aside for some undesirable activity, and then to a bar and club area downtown.

We went to two different locals, chatted at the first and danced for hours at the second. Shortly after two, I was interested in heading home so that I could see museums, galleries and the alternative village community the next day. Meanwhile, the guys considered further bar options. The biked suddenly seemed to have grown tremendously in height and I swear it was like having to mount a horse, but with a small push, I was off and successfully navigated my way back along the elegant bike paths. Once back, I happily washed up and lay down on the couch made up with the softest comforter of my life. Ahh… sweet dreams.

I’m now sitting in a café with yellow tables, bottles filled with long-stemmed daisies, quickly burning candles, rust-colored chairs and rugs my parents would surely admire. Ok, hygge. I get it. It is Gemütlichkeit, but more sophisticated. Also, candles at 10am? That’s lovely. This cappuccino may be the best of my entire existence, which sounds hyperbolic and over-the-top, but it has the strong flavor of Barcelona espresso and the perfect amount of foam. Nebenbemerkung: I’d like to reiterate that people here are unbelievably stylish. I can hardly deal cope with it and want to photograph them so badly.

Hmm… it’s fairly unwise to skip breakfast, but I feasted on some bread slices in the apartment. To further exaggerate food and drink quality, it must be stated that Denmark has better bread than any other place in the world where I have dined. Better bread that Switzerland, even! As far as my own rations go, I’ve some raisins and walnuts with me and will probably buy some fruit before having a large lunch. This illustrates how similar I am to my father when he travels, forgoing physical hunger for the mental kind, craving more sights, more stimuli, more moments in which I laugh subtly to myself.

Yes, I love being a solitary traveler when it is framed within something as marvelous as a young people’s collective, replete with quirky types and a silver mannequin. Quite obviously, the reason I save money when traveling is that I don’t eat out as much – case in point being breakfast today – on my own as when I’m with others. Naturally it’s more fun to share a meal with a friend, but I won’t ever be ashamed to be the woman reading while eating. For god’s sake, I am that woman right now, writing in a journal while glancing over at an emptied, ground-stained cappuccino and its saucer.

Part Two still to come.

Cold metal, docile mammal

2009-08-04T16:05:00.003-07:00

In a Copenhagen café last week, my gaze landed distractedly and then fixated on a small, gold-framed painting of a cowboy and his horse. The blue sky of the otherwise unremarkable painting sent my thoughts in the direction of flight. The relationship between flight and the cowboy life is fairly strong in my mind, and a strong emotion was stirred within me. I'll attempt to describe it:

There is something highly romantic and nostalgic about being a pilot. As I conjure up the image of my father and grandfather using small planes to heard cattle at an Arizona ranch some decades ago, I find it more exquisitely innovative than purely humorous, as I saw it in the past. Europe’s love affair and fascination with the American West, with cowboys and Native Americans is deeply rooted in the pathos of the culture. It’s understandable, really and serves as another version of the exotic or hint to what the world used to be. Returning to herding via plane, though: a filmmaker or author couldn’t invent anything better than that. Large cold metal objects in the sky operated by man, used to collect and direct these warm-blooded, docile creatures. It’s pure romance and synergy. Beauty and awe can nearly always be found in juxtaposition, even (or especially) when the contrast is so stark.

Fiction Writing

2009-08-04T16:01:00.000-07:00

Writing fiction must be incredibly trying. This unexceptional epiphany is likely a delayed reaction to reading so many of Flannery O’Connor’s essays on her profession its challenges. I may invent people and hypothetical situations in daydreams, but to actualize them by putting pen to paper seems far too bold and I am much too meek. As a result of this, it is not surprising how popular memoirs have become in recent years. We can be humorous, critical and perceptive when writing about the topic we know most intimately: ourselves. One can even be more distant or detached when discussing oneself than when allowing characters to interact. You risk less; to your own flaws you can apply heavy layers of self-deprecation and sarcasm, whereas your characters’ are ones that you, as s/he who plays God, bestowed upon them. Cursed, really, but to make them more interesting. Yes, to be a fiction writer is to be either brave enough to invent or deluded enough to hope that others will find your creations believable. Yet fiction authors are free to give these characters traits that they themselves desire, or negative ones that they are afraid of openly revealing. It’s rather clever and vicarious, really.

On Being a Jet-setter and All That

2009-07-27T15:36:00.006-07:00

As I've proclaimed in several previous posts, making a right jubilatory mess about it, tomorrow I take off for Copenhagen. Das heißt, no internet for the week. I'll be staying in a co-op found via couchsurfing and then a clean, cheap hostel in Sweden. Really though, cheap for Stockholm. I've packed my standard compact bag, a leather one the size of a large laptop that makes me feel rather sophistiqué and delightfully European. Oh god, this word dribble isn't to be believed, I hope you know. In addition to this, which was a gift from my mother, I'll have my Timbuktu messanger bag which screams "Portland!" Apparently the point of my describing the luggage situations is really just because I want you to beg me for packing tips. Damn, I've gone and given myself away again.

For the sake of continuing in this materialistic vein, I feel the need to mention that I have nearly come to the end of my 4th small Moleskine this year, thus during the trip I will be using the newly gifted journal from Steve and Suzanne, as it has more in the way of remaining pages. Somehow I feel like I'm being disloyal to the entire Moleskine enterprise, but alas, they've already lured a great deal of pocket money away from me.

Earlier today I had an appointment to trade in books at the Munich Readery, which was more or less successful. I feel like the store credit always amounts to one book, regardless of how many you bring in. Ah, I'll stay hushed about it, as Powell's and I will be reunited soon. Some of the rejected books were ones I never got around to reading. I gave another look and pondered their potential after putting them back in my bag, so there's no need for hurt feelings. The book I purchased with my prize money was Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, which I have been eyeing in bookstores for some time now. I also have 1,50 Euro remaining credit at the store. Yipee? After the shop I biked to a similar one up the street and purchased a Stockholm (Lonely Planet, as I am a liberal arts student and I'll be damned if I ever veer from the stereotype), which is really more exciting for me and has no place being mentioned here. Yet the guide will help me find wondrous things in the city, about which you can read later. Benefits us both, non?

(This is where you praise me for packing lightly).

Pictured with toiletries for scale. Sad but true fact: I think I'm being hilarious.

With that I'll return to correcting my history essay for the umpteenth time and let you frolick about elsewhere in the internet. Hey go outdoors, maybe. I hear the weather's nice this time of year. So, fare thee well, I'll return on the evening of August 3rd.

Oh, a quick postscript: Sunday evening I met with some lovelies and we laughed ourselves to near death while fashioning the longest and most obscenely nonsensical German word out of scrabble tiles. Here's the result:

It's the length of the table! German is indeed a marvelous language, isn't it?

Musical Present for You

2009-07-27T15:00:00.004-07:00

Beautiful, innovative, melodic and meditative. Those are the few words I can offer to describe this video and song.

No France?

2009-07-24T08:18:00.002-07:00

The Föhn, a warm wind that blows through Munich, ruffling the tail feathers of and giving migraines to some while delighting others with lifted skirts, is remarkable. I will surely remember it even after leaving this city. I cannot say, like M., that I will never return to Munich. A year here has made me feel nearly saturated with the environment, but there will always be more to see and experience, new things will come to this very familiar but still evolving city. I will bring some love, or friends, or children here in years to come and I will point at places and people, saying, "that was my home, this was 'my' café, that woman over there was a girl I once knew." In the same vein, I will reflect fondly on drowsy days in or speedy bike rides through the English Garden, and long for it in the way I long for that morning coffee and reading time on that foot-wide Barcelona balcony.

It's highly probably that I already mentioned this, but for banality's sake I'll address it again. An odd note about this year of study and travel is that I neglected to visit France. Yet the time was more oriented toward new experiences and seeking out unseen but pined-after territories. When I went to Paris at age 16, it was the fulfillment of a dream. The Louvre! Musée d'Orsay, Sacré Coeur. Places that only existed in a fairy tale light in my imagination became tangible, and they were just as unblemished in reality as they had been in my dreams. When else does that ever happen? No, I am just starting to feel ready for France once again and comprehend that it would be entirely new ordeal. For the moment, though, I will selfishly hold on to my young teenage awe and naïve love of Paris.

Some wonderful news about Copenhagen, as an aside: I will be staying with eight individuals in a quirky, gorgeous co-op focused on contemporary art and design, circus and marvelous discussion. This is beyond perfect.

Winding Down

2009-07-20T14:54:00.005-07:00

The year in Munich is nearly finished.

I am feeling odd about it, greeting the culmination in a bittersweet manner. I got so much out of this year that it seems not unlike a wet dishtowel. Wring. Wring. Wring. Another drop. Today I caught myself playing mini film memories in my head, in a summing it all up kind of way. The first time I met Ivanna came to mind, as we ordered lunch in a café near the university with Sybila. The next clip was of Ivanna and I laughing hysterically about the near catastrophic cheesy mess by the fountain when we lived in Barcelona some months later (day 1, I believe it was). Look: friendship formed.

This format of the memories is appealing and produces waves of nostalgia, but no desire to relive these situations. I feel mentally exhausted, as if many years were compressed into one - this is an idea I know I have reiterated endlessly. All the memories are so vivid, as if I recorded and frantically replayed them in order to avoid losing them. Eternal Sunshine... London, in November, is a time I always want to conjure up, and I still have some mental film reel of that, but it's dwindling, fading. The feel of the environment, placement of people and the colors and shapes around me have remained quite intense, and as I remember the places I explored, I can assign this visual information to a location. Ah, man selling quiche, Bengali street signs, vintage clothing... that was Brick Lane Market.

There has been more physical and cognitive stimuli in the past months than in most of my previous years in existence. A year of fulfilled Wanderlust; it's quite a lot to process. Hmm... I am feeling reflective now, but really, I always feel this way. Or that may be a lie. In the midst of an experience, I am drawing comparisons to things past, but not reliving them.

Today was rather wonderful. I spent it following the sun, dozing on the grass at Gärtnerplatz and by the university fountain. I was also approaced by and had several conversations with a five-year-old named Flora whose aunt worked at Trachtenvogl, where I enjoyed a cappuccino. I showed the precocious girl some of my drawings and she told me about her swim class, that she was starting school in the fall and how to spell her name in the air. Attempts were made at studying before I became overwhelmed at the chaos that is my theatre final. We read all the plays out of order so that we could see them performed when they were showing in Munich, but this disorder proves horrendous when you have to keep the different literary epochs and their time frame straight.

On an entirely different and insubstantial note, I am realizing that ideas are often more appealing and easy to become addicted to than people. People really are just realised ideas, after all. Uff, that sounds far too platonic to be true.

Puppetry Performance!!

2009-07-18T19:02:00.004-07:00

Here's the final product of my puppetry course! I am the one controlling the main character, on the right.

The Grey Man from Sarah O'Brien on Vimeo.

So, I have been told by a big shot in the Munich puppetry scene (how weird is this concept?) that I am not allowed to return to America, as they need me here, to be in more shows. I am glowing a little.

Required Items (Part II)

2009-07-13T00:35:00.006-07:00

Of course I could not leave the last post regarding desired items so incomplete, so here are some objects or locales that I forgot to mention previously.

Cheap postage!

Real avocados that do not taste like paste! I also miss our oversized bananas, surely genetically modified or full of radioactive properties, but oh so delicious.

Tillamook cheese!! I consume so much cheese in life, and the modest deli slices (7 per pack or so) do not suffice.

My Netflix account and the habit of watching good movies once or twice a week. I keep receiving emails from the company begging and trying to entice me into coming back to them. "We were good to you," they moan, like a needy ex-lover.

The inexpensive and delicous House Wine brand, which cannot be found here, though lack of wine is not something I can earnestly complain about.

In terms of reading material, I bemoan the absence of the Portland Mercury, at least in a tangible form (a great deal is also published online) and the surge of joy that comes every Thursday, when a new (free) copy can be found downtown or in most close-in areas of the city.

Now for places in which I will sit myself and refuse to budge until I have absorbed their spirit and satisfied my malnourished diet consisting of Munich locales.

Naturally, the first appearance on this list is made by Stumptown. Hello, brick walls, aromatic and flavorful wonder and hipster baristas!

Mmm Laughing Planet! Oh burritos and dinosaur toy decorations.

Buffalo Exchange and thrift stores in general. I don't understand the need to always buy new when others have used something just a few times. I cheated with this image, as this store is in East Village and not PDX, but it is too pretty for me to care.

My library!! All of its little branches, too. Munich libraries are unecessarily complicated and some charge fees! I maintain that to be against the spirit of libraries. (Image credit: misterbisson, Flickr).

The list is complete for the moment, but there is always more. Later, I shall definitely write out things I will miss in Germany, which is just as long and in-depth in nature.

August 28th shall be spent flitting all over my city in pursuit of these articles or places. I can hardly wait. First, however, I must conquer my finals and then the Nordic lands.

In Excess

2009-07-12T02:32:00.007-07:00

On a related note to the previous post, another perturbing line of thought I've been indulging in lately is the place of excess in our lives. When something interests me, I tend to feel compelled to dive deeply into it and stay there for a while, living and breathing the new art form, book, song, theory or person. I seem to believe that the best way to gain a comprehensive understanding of how it works and how I can apply it to other areas. In that way - seeing connections - it is not so much a developed obsession, but something that can overlap with the curiosites and interests of years past.

With puppetry, for example, I allowed this to happen. I had nothing more than a vague notion of the creative and performance process before this semester and yet somehow it has developed into a full-fledged aspect of importance in my life. The idea behind the performance was recycled from unused animation brainstorming that I produced one summer after taking a related course in high school. The sketches of puppets made in one of Munich's museums, an assisgnment for the puppetry course, made their way into my zine. See? Overlap.

Ah speaking of the zine, it was finished a week ago and at somepoint I will photograph all the pages and post them. Over twenty in all, though. Hmm... perhaps in segments so that it is not extremely image-heavy. For now, however, here is just the cover page:

Fitting that I ended up titling it idee fixe, non?

My friend S. and I were once eating at Saf here in Munich, and she said something that feels applicable to this current rambling. She had a smoothie and managed to drink the entirety in a matter of minutes. Afterwards she remarked, as she poured water into the glass to somehow get at the essence of whatever smoothie-like liquid remained, that her guzzling of the drink served as a perfect metaphor for how she enjoys her men as well: never taking the time to enjoy the initial stages, absorbing all the pleasure almost instantly and then being somewhat surprised by the abrupt end.

For a person to then serve as an idee fixe is problematic and mildly dangerous. But I shall continue assume that when leisurely pursuits are balanced and there is room for overlap, they can then be [almost] equally enjoyed.

Multiple Passions

2009-07-11T10:44:00.005-07:00

In a conversation with my mother about a week ago, she implored me not to put too much of myself into all that I do, but rather to save energy with the aim of devoting it to a few specific passions I really care about. It had me wondering how many of us spread ourselves too thinly and whether I was personally guilty of that. Caring about things too much, wanting to actualize several unrelated ideas, all with equal precision; can this be detrimental?

I love that part of the short story read in the "Numbers" episode of This American Life, when the woman breathes hotly and speaks rapidly into the narrator's ear. She was so full of life, and he had such little life in him, or something similar, is what he says.

A certain poem has been floating through my mind: "Drunk as Drunk" by Pablo Neruda.

Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails.

Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.

I shall leave you to process that, as I just spent the last few hours dissecting poems with a friend.

A Child's Memory

2009-07-08T01:25:00.004-07:00

This was from a note to a friend, but I feel it fits here too:

I keep thinking I see J. (a child from my previous
job with the Autistic Children's Activities Program) here, and last night he was in my dream. I was walking toward my apartment building and another American who lives there was working as a photographer on the lawn just in front. The person he was photographing was J., who posed as if he was in a Land's End catalogue or a senior portrait, very smug. I called out hello and he looked over with a twinge of recognition but more confusion, and when I asked my neigbor if the kid was who I thought he was, he told me to bugger off (but more harshly). I don't remember feeling incredibly upset, just perplexed. It's odd how kids you work with everyday won't remember you at all in the future, particularly autistic children. I suppose you put in all the effort while you directly interact with them and somehow become ok with the fact that you will certainly drift out of their memories. Does this sound too pessimistic?

Visual Descriptives

2009-07-06T01:38:00.004-07:00

When whittled down to the bare essence, this is the most accurate, ableit simplified, representation of my life:

Candlelight, coffee, glue, scissors, a current art project that is occasionally abandoned and then picked up with fervor a few weeks later, and the need to spread out, occupying my entire space (the floor makes the best desk).

The cause of this is most clearly seen here:

in the seemingly constant rain of Munich.

Wet climates do seem to stir creativity in that way.

...and then life happened

2009-07-05T05:08:00.005-07:00

Just as a quick note, I'd like to say that, as fun as I am sure suffering through my melancholic and irritatingly repetitive self-analysis (yes I am happy, oh just kidding I am not, waah I miss Portland, why isn't Munich Portland?, oh I am happy again, ETC) is, more travel posts are to come in the near future. This was after all the whole reason I started writing the blog, so it seems long overdue. Prague and Vienna were fairly recent, though, so I'd like to think you are not malnourished regarding trip descriptions.

Next trips!

Copenhagen: July 28th-31st

Stockholm: July 31st~August 3rd (the return date is still iffy).

Zürich: probably around August 10th, 2 weeks in length (family+++).

For now, however, I am just finishing up the semester, nearing finals and my terrifying presentation on the Madrid Conference and its impact on East-West relations. In front of a room of serious German history students in their mid-twenties. Oh... they may swallow me whole. I would be most upset about being unable to perform in my puppet show later that week, as I assume being devoured could prevent that.

Image credit:
1) cuy.org
2) thegooglesdonothing.com

Things I Like

2009-07-03T03:09:00.010-07:00

Emily came over the other night to chat, over-analyze and drink wine and sangria with me. These are perhaps our most favorite pastimes to indulge in. The conversation turned at one point to the Firefly series and Serenity and I felt the need, as one usually does after a few drinks, to bemoan Wash's.... well you know what it is if you are acquainted with that universe, and there is no need to so forwardly spoil things for those who are not.

But I became more agitated than the standard eyes welling up a little, maybe shed two tears state, and as Emily cannot take people crying and knows me better than anyone in existence, she scribbled down a special list for me with furious speed. Actually, it was initially just oral, but as it was my equivalent of raindrops on roses/whiskers on kittens, I wanted a more concrete, long-lasting version. I was still bothered by the previous topic of conversation, but too touched by her efforts to remain upset. No one has ever written me such a beautiful list before. Would you like to see it?

Things Sarah Likes
According to Emily Maxine

Belle and Sebastian
Portland
Bikes
Biking in Portland
Sushi
Getting As on Psychology things because you are brilliant*
Thai foods
Tofu
Art/paint in bright colours [yes, she spells this way, the Anglophile]
Art Museums
Wine (w/ Emily)
The Golden Gate Bridge
Pretty earrings
Switzerland/Swiss things
Puppets
Trees
Travel
Street Art
Cooking delicious foods
Jon Stewart
Bob Dylan

*that one made me blush and wave my hand at her in a bashful "oh stop it, you" manner

So all this was pretty much just an ode to Em and her deft problem-solving skills (i.e. she who brings her friend's unnecessary crying to an end). I am so glad we will share an apartment next Fall and Spring, as we have become masters at keeping one another sane. It's a useful skill to have.

To transition to item 15 of the list, my marionettes are complete!! I can utter nothing but sounds of pure joy regarding this victory, and I think you should see what exactly I am so excited about.

It has been years since I have formed such a strong connection to my artwork, and I adamantly feel that puppetry is a form of visual and performing art in which you can instantly relate instantly to your creation. At the end of the process, you have essentially produced a small human-like figure with the potential for animation. This course has been a great opportunity to both test out and actualize ideas that were swimming around, uncompartmentalized, for years. I can also easily apply previous life and artistic experience in a way that makes the process seem so intuitive. Naturally I would be drawn to puppetry, it seems.

Since seeing the film Objectified on Wednesday, I have been scrutinizing objects from a design perspective. What is the main function of this object? Do its aesthetic and functional values match up? What is the intended demographic? What novel, innovative ideas did the designer bring to this project, if any? If you at all enjoyed Helvetica, I'd highly recommend this documentary, which was also directed by Gary Hustwit. Objectified draws you in and leads you through different design perspectives without force-feeding you a solitary 'correct' one. As such, you are allowed to pick elements and concepts from several interviews with professionals that you found particularly inspiring. The still shots of objects or footage of consumers interacting with the product (without consciously realizing that it has been purposefully designed) allowed time to process what had just been said in a previous scene. As with Helvetica, the music appeared to be carefully-chosen and fit very well. I also was pleased that, while sustainability and mass production were touched upon throughout the film, they did not devour the other elements.

Particularly enjoyable about this screening was that a) it took place a large university lecture hall which was b) full of students and adult members of the 'real world' alike, c) beer was served and enjoyed throughout the film, d) it only cost me 5 euro rather than the $20 I would have had to shell out in PDX and most significantly, e) Gary Hustwit himself replied articulately in an extensive Q&A session. However, as a result of this documentary, I have fallen hard for the Bouroullec brothers and don't think I can be saved. Ah, tragedy.

Such beautiful human beings.

With that, I urge you to see the film and if you are in Munich on July 18th, to come see our puppet performance. The other groups have fantastic ideas as well and have executed them splendidly. I am filled with anticipation for it.

Desired Items + Banal Self-Reflection

2009-07-01T01:45:00.008-07:00

I understand that Munich is fertile ground for the kind of culture I seek, and I know that its potential, like its pre-existing elements, is fairly great. Places like Café King, across the street from a rundown, deftly graffitied building, remind me how cool and progressive (my apologies to those with an allergy to this word, it simply provides an apt description) this city is and moreover, how close it is to my ideal city. Something is lacking, though.

Finding new places and events takes energy and funds, which I seem to frequently lack. Also, it is so much more thrilling discovering these aspects with someone, particularly someone who knows his/her way around and has connections. That was what made Portland immediately so wonderful. I had a summer to explore it on my own and become a devotee to both PAM (art museum) and Powell's, but during the fall semester I had a chance to explore further and more intensely and then I met A., who knew where everything was. Meanwhile I was adventurous possessed a fresh enough perspective to find places on my own that even he did not know about. A Partnerschaft is in this sense what is missing, and a fantastic city. Munich is extraordinary, but I know it and I know Portland very well at this point... I just love Portland more. This does make me fear that I have become boring, however, because I stopped seeking out these events. I suppose I have let my interests define me too much.

I try to see myself now from another perspective with the goal of maintaining an unbiased view. This is highly difficult, of course, and a somewhat pointless excercise insofar as that it is fairly impossible to achieve. It is hard to drum up negative personal characteristics and analyze them unless you want to plummet downward into that depressive cycle. This line of thought is irrelevant and should not be further dissected in blog form, please excuse me.

Ideally, I'd like to have an exceptional group of friends and live in Berlin when I am 24 or so. Life would be simple but full. We'd make art, cook, create and/or listen to music and simply do incredible things.

Yes, this is what I want most of all - a solid group of friends as opposed to several friends who live all over the world and happen to know of each other. If only I could hold onto something the way I did (or sought to) as a teenager when my family moved out of our gorgeous Bay Area house and into a two-bedroom apartment next to screaming children and disgruntled blue collar workers.

It's weird, I suppose I stopped believing in god a lot earlier on than I remember... When my fourteen-year-old self sat in that U-Haul, she pondered what there was to rely on. God, or any such manifestation was shot down rather quickly. Ich griff nach etwas, was eigentlich nicht exisitierte. Religion occured to me then as a possible stable, reliable foundation (something that you couldn't lose in a financial crisis, in the way we had lost the house) upon which one's hopes can be placed only after I considered certain people and even my already aging dog. Well god, - back then with a capital G - I thought, s/he's always around. Yet as I relive the situation, I don't remember feeling all that comforted. What is this, retro-atheism?

With that, I end the lengthy, fakely philosophical and terribly self-interested segment of this post. As a side-note, though, I've been feeling really great lately and believe that it is due to a combination of: being active and productive while showing my couchsurfer around, an increase in social interaction/ease in conversation, the nearness of my semester's end and impending travel plans, and the vastly improved weather conditions that make biking all the more enjoyable. Ok, now to some consumerist dribble. Ooh, things.

Already I am planning my arrival back in Portland not only as far as what I will do, but also what I will buy. Stimulating the economy much? Not as if my measly dollars (dollars! Hear that? No euros for me come August!) could make a dent. The list includes:

Papermate felt pens (with which I shall draaaw)

Trader Joe's dried mango

chewing gum that does not cost an arm and a leg (preferably not in this flavor..)

and a non-janky bike light that is securely affixed to my lovely bicycle.

Now to read as much Brecht as I can before 2pm. I suppose the material is easy to swallow, though, once decoded. It's sunny outside and not much can put a damper on my mood.

Plums in the Icebox

2009-06-27T04:19:00.004-07:00

I first came across this poem by William Carlos Williams while listening to an episode of This American Life. The short, simple form and the way it immediately creates a plausible situation struck me, as well as the fact (pointed out in the episode) that the plum thief doesn't actually apologize and instead only says "forgive me."

This is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast.

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold.

The reason I post it here is because of a witty little cartoon response I stumbled upon online:

Star Wars Geekery

2009-06-24T11:34:00.002-07:00

There are two wondrous Star Wars-related things that I mus share. The first is this photo of some inspired Street Art in Bristol. Holy sacrilege, Batman:

The second is an insanely adorable and fairly accurate summary of Star Wars provided by a three-year-old. My favorite parts are: "the shiny guy always worries," "light-up sword," "we blowed it up together," and "don't talk back to Darth Vader, he'll getcha." Ok ok, watch:

Street Art (deutsche Version)

2009-06-23T16:06:00.004-07:00

Amsterdam, Berlin, Barcelona: abhängig von der Perspektive, werden diese Städte entweder renommiert oder beschimpft für Street Art. Sie sind drastisch, kompromisslos und befinden sich wohlbehalten in stabilen europäischen Ländern, deshalb können sie es leisten, solche Risiken auf sich zu nehmen. München ist nicht in Betracht gezogen, weil Münchner Street Art, wenn es eigentlich existiert, nicht besonders bemerkenswert ist. Mit anderen Wörtern, um es nicht so verzerrt darzulegen, sind die wenig guten öffentlichen Kunstwerke ganz vereinzelt wegen eines Mangels der aktiven Künstler sowie übereifriger Aufräumungsarbeiten.

Bekannt ist München für die eleganten, klassischen Gebäude und die sich in der Länge hinstreckenden Parks, nicht für die Schäbigkeit oder Gegenkultur. Die neuen Bundesländer (das ehemalige Ostdeutschland) bieten mehrere Gelegenheiten für große zugängliche Kunstprojekte an, indem die alten bürokratischen Bauwerke, leerstehenden Fabriken und maroden Wohnungen als Gemälde wieder verwenden werden können. Dieser geöffnete ‚Ausstellungsraum’ kann nicht in Städten wie München oder Venedig gefunden werden, weil die Architektur, Kirchenspitze und die Museen voll von Kunstwerken alter Meister im Rampenlicht stehen.

Leider bedeutet es deswegen, dass die Münchner Straßen keine sich ständig verändernde Galerie sind, sondern eine fast sterile Verkörperung und Erinnerung sowohl der Anständigkeit als auch des Reichtums und der konservativen Basis der Stadt. Street Art ist für mich eine genauso überlebensfähige Kunstform als beispielsweise Plastik, Textilie, Fotografie, Porträtmalerei und Landschaftsbilder. Darüber hinaus bezieht Street Art sich auf die vergangene heimliche Graffiti-Kultur und währenddessen erschafft zu etwas Neuartigem, mit dem man aber auch unter Strom steht. Alle interessante und wertvolle Unternehmung sollten auch ein klein bisschen bedenklich oder riskant sein, oder?

John-Lennon-Mauer in Prag

Meine Meinung über dieses Thema ist extrem stark beeinflusst von der Tatsache, dass ich zur alternativen Kultur aller Arten hingezogen bin. Beim Reisen sind meine Hauptziele: moderne Kunstmuseen zu besuchen, die Distrikte, Parks und Wege zu erkunden, Café-, Fahrrad- und Street Art-Kultur zu begreifen, die Mode zu bewundern und das Essen zu genießen. Ich besuche Städte wie Kopenhagen oder London, da ich weiß, dass da diese oben erwähnten Aspekte lebendig und gut gehend sind. Ich habe, auf meine Art, an die Verbreiterung der öffentlichen Kunst teilgenommen. Es war allerdings eine kurzzeitige Erfahrung und deshalb war ich nicht sonderlich enttäuscht, als das Wandgemälde am nächsten Tag mit eintönigem Grau übermalt wurde. Am wichtigsten war, dass während der zwölf Stunden, als es existierte, Leute es bemerkten und sie anfingen, darüber zu reden.

Street Art handelt von der Überschreitung der Kunst definierenden Grenzen in einer ähnlichen Weise wie, was Duchamp mit seiner Skulptur (im weitesten Sinne) „Fountain“ oder was Monet mit seinem damals verachteten und eigentlich revolutionären Gemälde „Sunrise“ machten. Die Absicht dieser spezifischen Kunstform ist, uns als zufälliges Publikum der Fußgänger, Fahrradfahrer und anderen Wanderer der Straßen anzuregen, stehen zu bleiben, zu beobachten, zu überlegen und die Auswirkung der Kunst auf unsere alltägliche Umgebung neu zu bewerten. Eine Wand könnte mehr als nur eine Wand sein, wenn sie als Leinwand für etwas Geniales benutzt wird.

Twitter und Tehran

2009-06-23T15:51:00.003-07:00

Ich wollte meinen Aufsatz über die sogenannte Twitter-Revolution auch als Post schreiben, allerdings ist der noch nicht korrigiert. Also es tut mir Leid, wenn die Grammatik absolut schrecklich ist.

Bei dem kürzlichen iranischen Wahlkampf gewann der amtierende Mahmud Ahmadinedschad statt des liberaleren Kandidaten Hossein Mussawi. Allerdings sind die Ergebnisse infrage gestellt und haben tausende Leute protestiert. Ausländische Medien wurden gezwungen, das Land zu verlassen aber Internetdienste wie Facebook und Twitter haben einen Diskussionsraum angeboten. So sieht Demokratie in den 21. Jahrhundert aus; gerade erfahren wir eine Twitter-Revolution’ und die Auswirkungen des Cyber-Aktivismus.

Die Nummer der Mitglieder der Mussawi Facebook-Gruppe ist zu 5.000 gestiegen, aber es ist sehr plausibel, dass die Unterstutzer in Iran eigentlich eine Minderheit sind. Die Regierung gab heute zu, dass es ein paar Fehler beim Wahlkampf existierten, jedoch stimme das Ergebnis noch. Der Harvard-Professor Jonathan Zittrain behauptet, dass Twitter eine ideale Simulation des mündlichen Dissens sei, besonders in einem Land, das keine starke ausländische Medienpräsenz mehr hat. Eine witzige Nebenbemerkung von ihm ist, dass alle Qualitäten, die das Sozialnetzwerk gehaltlos und unausgereift scheinen lassen, es auch extrem mächtig machen.*

Nun steht Twitter für die westliche Welt und liberale Medien. Mangels eines offensichtlichen demokratischen Prozesses entwerfen Twitter-Benutzer eine neue Art der Basisbewegung und nehmen sie an einen friedlichen internationalen Protest teil. Die online Selbstdarstellung des liberalen Westens identifiziert sich stark und stellvertretende mit den Gleichgesinnten in Iran, allerdings während sie ihre Avatare zum Grün und Ort zu Tehran ändern, gebrauchen ihre iranische Gegenüber Twitter als Kommunikationsmittel. Somit können sie andere protestierende Leute vor Streitfällen und Gefahren warnen.

Darin liegt den wichtigen Unterschied in Bezug auf, wie beide Gruppe mit den Internetdiensten umgehen: in Iran wirken die Dienste als Mittel für ziemlich sicheren und bestimmt schnelleren Informationsaustausch und in den Westen sind sie eine Methode, die Themen zu diskutieren und sich irgendwie dazu zugehörend zu fühlen.

*Zittrain, Jonathan. "The qualities that make Twitter seem inane and half-baked are what makes it so powerful."

Oooh

2009-06-23T03:36:00.005-07:00

I must go to Williamsburg.

Entertaining Missions

2009-06-20T06:43:00.003-07:00

So my friend Sandra back in Portland (who is currently cavorting across the U.S.) and I have been exchanging letters and emails to stay in touch. Due to life and other such distractions, though, sometimes letters were late or non-existant. In loving mockery I decided to assign a sort of late letter tax in the form of missions, which has ended up being very fun. You can read my initial missions in the bottom half of this post, but first, here is the task I had to complete:

Mission Assignment from Sandra:

The first installment of your mission is to pick a random shelf in the grocery store, write down the seventh ingredient of each of seven different items all in a row, and create a new onomotopoeia (SP?) word using one letter from each of these ingredients. Describe in detail in what situation this sound would be made!

My response:

Ok here are the very German ingredients:

Salz, Zucker, Quendelkraut, Volkorn-Reis, Reis, Bio-Gersterlnmalz (??), Magermilchpulver.

This was in the bread and snacks aisle.

Oi. As none of the first letters are vowels, I'm very glad I can pick any letter.

The (loosely-termed) word is:

AZELROP

"Azelrop," (n) is the sound one makes when hiccuping and burping simultaneously.

The year: 1952

The situation:

Eleanore was once eating french fries at the food court in an Illinois mall, staring smittenly into the eyes of her future beau (he only didn't know it yet), Jared. The date was going very well and she even feigned interest in his favorite football team. "A girl must sacrifice some things for true love," she thought to herself, sighing. Needless to say, Eleanore hadn't read any Betty Friedan or bell hooks.

But just as it seemed that Jared was going to ask that fabulous, life-altering question, "Wanna go steady?," Eleanore slurped on her chocolate vanilla swirl smoothie, gulped the cold, creamy liquid and let out the world's most horrifying belchy sound, "AZelrOP!

"Oh dear God," the poor girl thought, her face turning a crimson shade of red. Jared closed his mouth before even uttering the sentence, cleared his throat and dipped three large, greasy fries in ketchup.
________________________________________

Here are the ones I assigned her:

So, as "punishment" for nonfulfillment of prompt letter delivery services, you have been assigned a mission. Think of it as equivalent to an overdue fine, except for free and more time-intensive.

There are five tasks, including some sub-tasks, that you must complete. You must find:

a) ...a man with a chubby pug. Are either man or dog wearing any accessories? Please describe. If no pug can be found, find a similarly frou frou dog/animal.

b) ...an instance of social referencing wherein everyone looks at each other utterly confused and exchanges "what the hell?!" glances.
b1) you must not only illustrate this situation but partake in it as well. See if you can alter the group's behavior by acting calm and doing something distinctive.

c) ...a teen magazine in a drug store and proceed to count the number of times you see the words "boy," "crush" or "flirt" in the page index (is it called table of contents even in magazines?).
c1) If you see a chart of body types and instructions on how to pick the best swimsuit, dress, etc. for your (pear, petite or curvy) shape, please draw it. If this, for some bizarre reason, does not exist in the current edition of the magazine, feel free to create a guide for aliens including octagonal, amorphous blob and other potential body types.

d) Go to a park or playground and count the number of new age, obscure or celebrity-like kid names (e.g. Apple) you hear.

e) Go Powell's, find a book at random and copy the first sentence on p. 26. Repeat this with another book. Now merge the sentences into a super short story. You must include a friendly dinosaur as a character.

I think this "punishment" goes above and beyond pardoning your overdue letter fine. Feel free to do the missions over the course of several letters/months. All at once would be slightly crazy.

Have fun! Make me missions too, if you desire. I miss you!

-Sarah

Anaïs Nin

2009-06-16T12:55:00.002-07:00

I was browsing through wiki articles in a highly successful attempt to shirk my duties as a student/social human being, and I found scores of great quotes by Anaïs Nin. Would you like them? Oh yes, you really would:

"I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing."

"I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I cannot transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls."

"This diary is my kief, hashish, and opium pipe. This is my drug and my vice."

"Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terror, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them." (This a marvelously well-put version of what I futilely tried to articulate with my comment about art being created out of solitude).

"How wrong is it for women to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than set out to create it herself."

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing." (I didn't agree with this until I saw the words weariness and withering, although that still seemed a natural end to a cycle to me).

Praha!

2009-06-16T04:18:00.019-07:00

If cities could be lovers, my romantic life would be as follows:

I would have my first puppy love crush on San Francisco, the boy next door, an ever-lasting infatuation and mutual attraction with Zürich, brief fling with Phoenix due to his impeccable knowledge of indie music, believe my soulmate to be Portland though I'd be tempted to stray with Seattle, have an intense romance with Munich but eventually leave for someone with more similar interests, consider moving in with Berlin and eternally wish that I could have Amsterdam. I would admire Barcelona and and fool myself into thinking that we could be something serious, go weak in the knees for London but be turned off by his hoity-toity sense of class status and wealth, have a fleeting thing for Venice and a two-month adventure with Vienna, and be highly intrigued by the mysterious Prague and realize that our taste in food and art (the most crucial elements) matched perfectly. I would also have an unhealthy obsession with both Copenhagen and Stockholm...

Gendering the cities was a bit odd and proved heteronormative, I must say. But it was a fun exercise nonetheless.

Oh yes, so Prague. Kundera and Kafka's city, Prague Spring, Velvet Revolution, Cubist interior design... It was glorious, of course, and I am so very glad to have been there. Prepare yourself for an overly-detailed commentary.

My favorite aspect was the Kampa Museum, a gorgeous art museum that proudly displays this quote from its creator Jan Mládek on the entrance wall: "If a culture survives, then so too does the nation." I will attempt to describe the atmosphere created within this building so as to give you a slight hint to the sensation it aroused. Imagine a large white cubic structure next to the river, appearing to levitate above the water. To the right, on a pier on the water, is a diagonal row of life-size plastic yellow penguins. Behind them is an enormous stone chair with one apparently broken leg. On land, giant iron babies with stamped barcode faces remain in a frozen crawl position and are occasionally photographed or climbed on by visitors. In the courtyard just before the museum there are three long, waist-height tetrahedrons with mirror surfaces.

When you finally make it past the ecclectic collection of public art and into the museum, you are immediately confronted by the first works. There is no foyer or unecessary extra space dividing you from the art. As you take it all in, you realize that you still must purchase a ticket (student price = 140 Czech crowns, 5,20 Euro, ~ $7.20) and buy one from the remarkably friendly - and rather adorable - young museum employee. The first room takes a fair amount of time to get through, small though it is, because of the amount of artwork in the space. In no way does it feel cramped, though, and the various styles are not in conflict with one another. A helpful factor may be the tall rectangular windows looking out to the river and the clean white walls. There is so much light in the room but it still feels intimate enough for you to have a quiet dialogue with the art.

In the adjacent room, two highly minimalist pieces lay on the floor. One was a large flat basin of nearly black water which reflected the innovative, interesting ceiling. Every once in a while, when someone upstairs walked a tad more vigorously than usualy, a small ripple would form in the basin. The second piece consisted of two opaque slates of glass sandwiching tubes of light. As I circled it, the light appeared to follow my warmth and movement, although this was surely just an illusion. After two minutes, the light disappeared, leaving me somewhat empty and unfulfilled. On an interesting side note, the curator's chair seemed to have equal significance in this room.

The stairwell was impressive in its own right, the walls covered, but not in an overwhelming way, with assorted two- and three-dimensional paintings. Hanging from the ceiling, in the middle of the spiraling stairs, was a sculpture that looked like a white DNA chandelier or those toy sticks that you connect together to make weird contraptions. I really liked the cubist works upstairs, namely one made up of miniscule wooden blocks, varying in height and resembling a blank crossword puzzle or scrabble board. Also interesting were four panels exploring shape development which to me looked unmistakably like a man devouring a sword and turning into a goat. I suppose with that comment I discredited the artist's original intent. It's what the viewer sees/reader reads that matters, right? Uff postmodernism. I apologize.

I fell head-over-heels for František Kupka's small abstract watercolors. Study for Animated Lines, Studies for Around a Point, Four Studies for a Tale of Pistils and Stamens, and Study for Lines, Planes, Depth were my favorites and reminded me of Frank Stella, but with a pointilist/impressionist twist. Otto Gutfreund's Cellist sculpture embodied all that is powerful, sensual and bold in a single sculpture... not to hype it up, but seriously.

Though I could go on longer about the artwork, I think this is sufficient and perhaps over-the-top already. One quick note though, is that I got to see the Cobra exhibit that I had wanted to check out in Amsterdam. It was a bit unimpressive, honestly, and the most I got out of it was this quote from one of the founding members on the wall: "We must turn everyone into artists! Because that is what they are. They just don't know it."

I suppose that a description of Prague is also in order, though, seeing as I also explored the city and not just a single museum there. While there, the friend I was traveling with, Andee, and I frequented Globe Café not once, but thrice. This English-language bookstore and café was, no joke, right across from our hostel (P.S. I recommend Chili Hostel, though I have heard good things about Sir Toby's as well). Aside from the Kampa Museum, we also visited the Franz Kafka Museum, which is remarkably cheap for students and can be very interesting if you speak German as well as English (or Czech) and are a fan of Kafka's works. For me, it wasn't terribly thrilling and naturally a bit of a downer after Kampa, but it was still worth the visit. The infamous and controversial Piss sculpture in front is required viewing, too.

Globe Café

We went to Havelská Market, where I bought wooden earrings and a delicate handmade wooden magnet for my aunt, saw the Hanging Out sculpture, napped, sunbathed and read in Vojan Park, saw the Spanish Synagogue, the Old Jewish Cemetary, trekked up to Prague Castle and saw numerous buildings, churches and boutiques. Astronomical Clock, the Dancing House, etc. You get the gist of it. Hey did you know Tycho Brahe, the astronomer who lost the tip of his nose in a duel (one of the few facts I remember from astronomy) had a pet moose? Apparently the poor creature died from drinking too much beer and falling down the stairs. Whaaaat?

Recommended eateries are definitely Bar Bar, Lemon Leaf, any of the vegetarian restaurants around and of course, Globe Café. Just as satisfying, however, is grabbing a sandwhich or bread, fruit and cheese and picnicking in a park or along the river. Prague has a great selection of cafés and bars and a satisfactory amount of street art. The focus seemed to be more on graffiti, however, which I was interested in but not as thrilled by. OH! So another most beloved Prague sight of mine was the Lennon Wall. I experienced surges of glee at seeing such a grand-scale and ever in flux wall open to public art. I left a contribution, naturally.

This post is absurdly long yet was still hugely satisfying to write. Hope you get something out of it (e.g. an extreme desire to see Prague).

Penny-farthing Necklace & Marionette

2009-06-07T03:02:00.004-07:00

Loooook what I made:

Other items created include earrings, more necklaces, and puppet clothing. I am in the intitial painting stages (just the white base color) with my second marionette:

Street Art

2009-06-06T03:36:00.009-07:00

Amsterdam, Berlin, Barcelona: these are the cities renowned or reviled, depending on one's perspective, for their street art. They are graphic, uncompromising und situated safely within stable European countries, therefore they can afford to take such risks. Munich does not make the cut because its street art, when existent, is not remarkable. Or, to put it more diplomatically, the rare good works are few and far between due to a lower percentage of active artists and an over-eager clean-up crew.

Munich is known for its elegant, classic buildings and sprawling parks, not for it's dinginess or counterculture scene. Former East Germany has more opportunities for larger public design ventures, as the old bureaucratic buildings, abandoned factories and ramshackle apartments can be used as a canvas. This public display area cannot be found in cities like Munich or Venice, where the focus is almost always placed on architecture, church steeples and the old masters' works in museums.

Tragically, this means that Munich's streets are not a constantly fluctating gallery but rather a near-sterile embodiment and reminder of propriety as well as the city's wealth and conservative roots. For me, street art is just as viable a form of expression as sculpture, textile work, photography, portraiture and landscapes on canvas or found art (any comment about the last one?). Its ties to the clandestine graffiti culture of the past make it more adrenaline-fueled and novel. All that is good and worthwhile should be a touch on the dangerous side, right?

Photos from my time in Amsterdam

My bias on this issue lies in the fact that I am highly drawn to alternative culture in all forms. When traveling, my goals are as follows: visit modern art museums, explore the pathways, parks and buildings, take in the café, bike and street art culture, and lastly but still of utmost importance, to enjoy the food. I seek out cities like Copenhagen or London, where I know these aspects are present and thriving. I have participated, in my own small way, in the propagation of street art. This was, however, a transient and temporary experience, thus I wasn't terribly unhappy when the piece was painted over with a drab grey the next day. The point was that in the twelve hours that my work existed, people noticed and commented on it (as I was to later find out). Even during the creation process in the middle of the night, people stopped to quietly observe and sometimes pose questions.

Me with my ephemeral but enjoyable mandala mural, Fall 2006.

Street art is about pushing the boundaries of what we label as art, just as Duchamp did with his "Fountain" or Monet with his then-scorned painting "Sunrise" which served to spark the impressionist movement. The intent of this particular form is to make us, a happenstance audience of pedestrians, bikers and those who make use of side streets, to pause, observe, ponder and reevaluate our daily environment via its direct impact on our lives. A wall is more than just a wall when it is used as a surface for something great.

Street art is a noteworthy and culturally signifcant movement that inspires those who are interested and disgusts those who are not. A phenomenon that attracts a select demographic while enduring the ridicule of another signals that it effectively triggers an emotional response, a key element behind what seems to be its absolute staying power.

Stunning Body Art

2009-06-06T02:03:00.002-07:00

I just saw some works by the body artist Emma Hack and thought you might like them as well. Below are my favorites:

Vienna Waits for you

2009-06-05T04:00:00.016-07:00

Originally written on June 31st:
VIENNA

Truth be told, I had really underestimated this city even before coming here due to how appealing and exciting I found Berlin. It can't possibly be as gloriously gritty and chock-full with alternative art, I thought. Wrong! I soon realized that there was no sense in comparing two entirely different cities, and that there are hundreds of cultural events per night in Vienna, a great deal of which seem very promising. The art museums are gorgeous, enormous and incredibly varied, there is a palpable (though perhaps less prominent than that of Berlin) 'alternative' scene, and if you know how to spend like a smart student, things are really cheap - with the exception of cappuccinos, which are at any rate cheaper and less milky than those of Munich. There is not a ton of street art, but the small and discrete nature of that which exists makes you feel as if you've found a nugget of gold when you stumble across it. I am also very enamored of the linguistic humbleness the Austrians display and find it much like the Swiss attitude. The result is a notion that their retort to any skepticism would be:

"our German may not be Hochdeutsch (high German), but we've developed it in an unabashed, seperate way with our own societal influences. Terribly sorry if it offends your Prussian or Bavarian ears and sensibilities!"

Hundertwasserhaus

Retrospective Commentary:

While in Vienna I spent hours in Kunsthaus Wien (the Hundertwasser museum that also had a Picasso exhibit), Leopold Museum (with Klimt and Schiele works), MUMOK (contemporary art museum) and Kunsthalle (also modern with a current exhibit called "Porn Identity"). I saw two marvelous and clever theatre performances that were part of a figure/puppet festival. The first performance was all about the props and involved a weird acrobatic sort of acting. The actors used artificially-made "bones" with magnetized ends as well as an O'Keefian ram's skull and connected them throughout the scenes, forming furniture, skeletons, towers and rings. After the show we were allowed to go up and play with the props, which I think I enjoyed just as much as the eight-year-old next to me. During the pause between performances, my friend Jason and I talked, planned, drank coffee and wrote. I was actually a bit distraught when the second piece ended, as the two performers had acted, sung in a folksy indie way about ridiculous events, performed with hand, body and shadow puppets, used their bodies as props and just put on an all-around stunning, intimate show. They were also adorable and hyper-talented women about my age, so I was doubly impressed.

Saturday I ate far too much fried food and felt icky and craved vegetables for some days after as a result. I did take a lot of photos and just walk around observing people, shops and street art. That was actually the museum day, but my memory has jumbled everything. Friday night I was treated, along with everyone in my study abroad program, to an extravagent Austrian dinner. We drank beakers of young wine, which had a peculiar and unique taste, spoke very loud German and English, and dined lavishly. Sunday night we all saw the ballet version of Romeo and Juliet in the Vienna Opera house, which I was oddly huffy about at first, as high school teachers had constantly bemoaned the overrated status of that play compared to Shakespeare's other works. Because it was a ballet, though, and without actual dialouge, I ended up being terribly moved by it and awestruck by the dancers' agility and grace. Sybila, Ivanna and I in front of Schönbrunn

For the sake of being tangential, here are some great quotes that I read on the walls of the art museums:

"Everywhere one recalls...movements in the human body similar [to] stirrings of joy and woes in plants." - Egon Schiele

"Malen ist eine religiose Tätigkeit" (Painting is a religious activity) - Hundertwasser.

"If we destroy our roots, we cannot grow" - Hundertwasser.

---- I am working on this. I booked a flight from Portland to Phoenix from October 7th to 11th of this year, and am really looking forward to seeing my parents and friends. In the eleven months I lived in Arizona, I made some of the deepest friendships I have ever had. I still have ties to and an entire collection of childhood memories from California, but I think the reason I connected so quickly with a few people while in AZ was because at seventeen, I had a better sense of myself than in all years previous.

The uprooting was, in a way, really good for me. My parents have been living in Tempe for the past few years and just switched from renting an apartment to home ownership, a move which I was highly weary of before. I believed that it would not be conducive to my mother's happiness, as she much prefers the climate and mentality of Zürich. Now there is an end in sight, though, as my Dad completes his PhD program in 2012 and they will have the option of moving afterwards. Also, there is something charming about the desert and utterly magical about music in Phoenix that plays until late in the night. I will never live there again, but it's a relief to have a base. Now, rather than just having my entire life condensed into three cardboard boxes shoved into a closet, there is a room that I can think of as my own. Hey, Virginia.

Learning to draw a labyrinth

2009-05-24T13:22:00.009-07:00

Saturday from 9am to 3pm I had my last meeting with the art therapy block seminar group, an experience which was just as was calming and insightful as expected. I learned a complex labyrinth design that, when used with typically-developing older kids or adults can be very a meditative internal process. An embellished/decorated version of this that I drew and stuffed in a letter for my friend Norman is below. We drew them with pastel chalk and then used clear baby oil to trace the path.

We did a lot of clay excercises too, for the sake of knowing how to implement them with children in the future. Another activity was one that is apparently altogether common in German elementary schools: felting, which oddly enough is done with wool. You take polyester or cotton as a base and roll it into a ball before affixing colored wool onto it, which magically sticks. Once you have formed a giant fluff ball, you soap your hands and wet the whole thing, gradually decressing the size and giving it a more concrete shape. After some time, you add more wool and create a distinguishable form, such as a fish or flower.

(eyes currently pending: will be sewn on later)

It's really an enjoyable experience and the creation process serves to relax the individual, allow one to open up and learn to properly recognize actual goals for a project, albeit in a simplified manner (e.g. making a fish out of wool), but it's a start. Saturday was also brilliantly sunny and I sat outside of my favorite Munich tea house, writing letters. A few friends and I met up, intending to go to a "trendy" (Munich is far too stylish/hip and ridiculously self-aware of this for it's own good. I often prefer the blunt, brash nature of Berlin) vegetarian restaurant but landed in a great, previously frequented Indian restaurant instead.

It is nice not to work this year - although my work during the school year has never consisted of more than unpaid internships, grading papers and babysitting and it was more during the summer that I got serious 'real world' experience - but I will enjoy the regularity and insignificant yet nonetheless helpful amount of money of a job next semester.

I have made an admirable attempt to enjoy the sun's warmth before the recurring storms these past weeks. It has been raining like crazy and even more intensely than in Portland, which is unbelievable. The frequency is not as great - except for during this month, when it pours three times a week. The pounding and thunder are just absurd, as if the weather needs to exaggerate in order to make its presence known. It pours straight down, too, like in films, rather than in the natural diagonal manner. The only prior experience I've had that holds a candle to it is monsoon season in Arizona, riding in a truck with enormous tires, wading through the flood in a fervent mission to reach an open mic night performance in Phoenix. Seeing the likes of this rain again is somewhat overwhelming in Bavaria, which is not a desert by any means.

Taken during the train ride.

Some compatriots relaxing at Ammersee.

Recent undertakings have included finding multiple ways to cook eggs (see below), making earrings out of old stamps, trying to draw a proper penny farthing, narrowly avoiding the purchase of things on Etsy, buying significantly cheaper Voxtrot albums on iTunes instead, meeting and chatting with German boys, working on the zine and going to Ammersee with friends to sunbathe, picnic, drink wine and swim. It's all been pretty wonderful, too.

Huevos

Fall Courses

2009-05-18T16:15:00.001-07:00

This is just a brief note to revel in the glory of what is to come: Fall 2009.

Classes!

BIO 100 Perspectives in Biology (+ Lab)
GERM 410 Major Periods of German Literature Beg - Enlight.
PSY 350 Behavioral Neuroscience (+ Lab)
PSY 360 Psychology of Gender

I'd also like to take Spanish conversation, but I'd have to take the test first. In a perfect world, I'd be made of money and thus able to afford the fee for the cello class. Alas, I shall have to settle instead for getting every class I wanted after all (!!!) despite a month of hellfire and becoming bffs with the registrar.

Not quite a rollercoaster, more of a mellow tide

2009-05-18T07:58:00.007-07:00

This past week and a half has been one of varying emotions. There was a personal family issue that upset me greatly when I finally recognized the brevity of the situation, and there was a birth (my cousin's baby). In between, I was frustrated by a professor, exulted in the off and on beautiful weather, saw lots of plays and cried very hard once. The weekend was an opportune time to calm down a bit, as unlike last weekend, I did not have a block seminar taking up Friday afternoon/evening and all of Saturday. I read Nathan der Weise, or Nathan the Wise, a highly complex German play from 1779 and managed to get a great deal out of it, though I would not enjoy repeating the experience. Biking through the park was (and now I am being redundant) meditative and soothing, as usual, much like the increased amount of cooking I have been doing recently (see below).

Seasoned tofu, sauteéd carrots, kohlrabi, red, green and yellow bell peppers, picante sprouts, basil and other spices.

After processing and writing down my thoughts on the family issue, then later talking to a friend here whom I have known since 9th grade about it, I felt very relieved. The reason it was more difficult to deal with than it otherwise would have been was, I noted, the lack of a romantic partner here. I don't say this to sound mopey or dependent, but it does make a difference when you cannot immediately discuss events with a person you trust before all others. I developed two different outlooks on the circumstance, one of which I wrote last Wednesday and the other, which I wrote towards the end of the week. Here is the first:

What I miss most of all is being in love and having a confidant. When I am supremely satisfied or joyful, or when I see something humorous, interesting or horrifying, I feel the urge to tell someone of it, to exchange witticisms, commentary and opinions. The only people willing to put up with that (aside from best friends, which I have also been experiencing a dearth of as of late), are lovers or ones parents. I miss feeling that one person knows what I need, am and how I perceive the world. That is truly to much to ask from an individual, as we cannot be everything to anyone, and considering the fact that I often do not know what I want or need. How can I expect that of someone else? I also don't yet feel entirely comfortable with the idea of someone knowing me that intimately again, as the disappointment from previous experiences can occasionally feel quite fresh.

I should make clear that I refer not to a particular person, as I am removed from that and have absolutely no desire for repeating the now impossible past. It was just the way of being known and loved that was special. That which I get out of a positive relationship is lacking, understandably, from my life. It is not at all that I feel incomplete or unhappy being on my own, - the phrasing here is closer to alone than single perhaps because of the fact that I am still in a foreign country - but this is just an observation of a difference.

That note was somewhat neutral, maybe even slightly negative in tone, and this more recent one helps provide a counterbalance:

I realize now that part of the reason I did not create so much artwork or produce so much writing while in relationships is because that creative energy comes out of a desire to communicate something; a sense of being the sole observer of your environment and existing in a realm filled with ones own thoughts. That drive is dulled when you can let some of that energy out in a mellow way by expressing your ideas to a partner. The endeavor of sex tames your need to create something external and grand. You are fairly fulfilled and all your wit is used up in conversation rather than commited to paper. There are so many literary and artistic greats who suffered a tremendous amount or simply led somewhat solitary lives. I am not saying that isolation is required to create art, merely that such a situation often lets ones imaginative tendencies thrive.

While making a zine in the middle of the night, an ongoing project I started last Friday, I stopped to write that, and really believed in it completely in the moment.

Today was full of all things conducive to a good mood. I explored Augustenstr., near the university, which I had frequented only twice before to visit the secondhand English bookstore. Last week when I was there, I bought Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose by Flannery O'Connor and Two Caravans by Marina Lewycka there. Two Caravans, which I actually started reading in a Barcelona library, is quite good and I especially love all the references to Ukranian culture because of a good friend of mine who is from Zolochiv. Returning to today, however, my second pleasurable experience was the discovery of a really good café in the area - hallelujah to branching out! I left a bit early and was so damn proud of myself for being beyond on time for my theater course at the LC Institute, yet I got there only to find out that class was cancelled. Ha. Oh well. It was a chance to study Spanish and snack a little in the park. Tonight at 8pm there is a show with two American musicians (one more folk/country, one who labels his style acoustic funk) at Kopfeck. Care to join me?

Autism: the "supercharged brain"

2009-05-06T17:35:00.002-07:00

I read two good articles on autism and was interested in sharing them. The first is very comprehensive and was spawned by a theory developed by a Swiss research team. Initially I was confused as to why children with autism who were found to typically have an enlarged amygdala (sector of the brain controlling emotion) were not as a result more adept at experiencing empathy and comprehending theory of mind or the emotions of others. This surprise, however stemmed from the false yet automatic belief that something which is bigger potentially functions better. Wrong... I quickly realized, with the help of the article, is that the pronounced amygdala would exaggerate the feelings that already exist. This explains the apparent hyper-perception of individuals with autism, or at least the sense of feeling too much that I perceived in the children with whom I worked.

It's similar to how children with autism generally hear things at high frequencies and much louder than most people - hearing is not like emotion, sure, but the perception is equally exaggerated.

Somewhat Lousy

2009-05-05T13:46:00.008-07:00

Apparently I am not all that chipper after all. I am still easily brought to [near] tears and generally experience a compressed miniature depression as a result. Rationality is my self-prescribed medication, though, and always serves to bring me out of it. That and the fact that I am armed with a psychological vocabulary and understanding of each behavior I may temporarily exhibit or warped belief to which I briefly subscribe. Fun...

The cause of this all can be summed up in a rampant over-generalization: some people are juts so rude. As I quickly and carefully biked on a sidewalk for a small stretch while trying to get to the next crosswalk, an elderly woman said "Could you get off [your bike]?!" and proceeded to rant about how narrow the sidewalk was. She did use the formal "Sie" but her tone was thick with poison and displeasure. I foolishly tried to explain that there was no available stoplight or crosswalk, and I was just biking there for a moment, but what I should have said was this:

Woman: Könnten Sie aufsteigen?! (Could you get off?! - highly rude tone of voice, arched eyebrows)
Me: Könnten Sie bitte nicht so sehr unhöflich sein? (Could you please not be so rude?)

Yet I did not jump to insult so quickly, and so I biked a little further, then dismounted and walked defeatedly to the suddenly very far off stoplight. I was practically crying and it was pathetic. I found myself wanting to curse this random woman for the poorly designed roads and bike paths in that part of the city.

Why do people affect us even when we understand how absurd, wrong and mean they are; how useless our emotion is when we are bothered by their comments? But once again I used an insignificant event and using it as a proxy to vent about other, larger issues. Today was just a bit lousy from the afternoon onward. I was fine up until class ended, but when this woman bitched at me, I deteriorated. The melancholy was short-lived, made me bike very quickly through the park, and turned eventually into anger. I made loud noises in the kitchen when I got back, banging pots and pans. I made a giant salad with an array of vegetables, then fried hashbrowns and ate them with ketchup afterward. While eating, I watched the Daily Show and had a conversation with my Mom on Skype that consisted of me telling her for twenty-five minutes that I did not feel like talking. As I didn't want to let my grumpiness make a brat of me, it didn't seem like an opportune time.

Things are ok now. I am still a bit grumpy, but I realize that I have just contracted the virus that has been floating around the international students here: no, not Swine Flu, but homesickness. We are satiated with Germany and thinking eagerly of how things will be when we get back. We have had an 8 1/2 month cultural experience and really did like it, learned a great deal, etc. I, for example, know now that I am so happy that my world exists in English, and that I really miss that world when gone for long stretches. The identity tied to it still exists, but the sense of belonging has faded and Portland still infiltrates my thoughts, calling out to me in every similar tree, second-hand shop or display of beautiful books I see. Again I am reminded, or perhaps I see now clearly, for the first time, that I can feel as Swiss as I like, but I still would rather live in my Northwestern corner of the US than Germany.

A few years or months in Berlin in my mid- to late-twenties wouldn't be unwelcome, though. I just need some time back home, and impossible though it may be, I want it before the end of August.

*Drawing by Maria Kalman

ich fahre einfach gerne Fahrrad

2009-05-04T15:49:00.009-07:00

Happiness for me is presently caused by:

Bicycling
Nature (insbesondere der Englische Garten)
The radical changes in weather that are occuring right now, from sunny bliss to lightly pattering rain to crashing thunderstorms
Mellow music, [audio]books
Puppets, sketching
Coffee

It's funny that my most influential and mood-determining factors in life at the moment are classes, biking, and the softcore and widely accepted drugs of coffee and wine. I am being highly social, though, and actively meeting and talking with people. I suppose everything is just very internally generated right now in that self-centered but nonetheless positive way things happen to be during ones twenties. Even my enjoyment of courses is something I cause, as it is my perception of and interaction in those courses that lead to contentment.

I did experience some melancholic Portland withdrawl feelings a few days ago and wrote, between pages of puppet design, some of it down.

What I miss: feeling a sense of belonging. What I feel in Munich is a territorial ownership of and pride in knowing this city. It still has the 'new car' smell to me and I am excited when I navigate my way correctly to a previously undiscovered place. Yet I miss being able to ask another biker in SE Portland if he has any extra batteries for my light and his reply being to freely go to his house to pick some up. I suppose that this random act - or orchestrated, as I did ask for the batteries - of kindnessis one that could occur anywhere, and in Italy I saw it again, in a more extreme variation, with the students from Padua.

That realized, though, I still miss being surrounded by mindful and kind compatriots and ex-pats who have made their place in the US. Although the Münchners are very informed and also polite, the sense of a shared cultural history, when not thought of in the grand-scale, with World Wars and global economic crises, is lacking for me. I think I am just missing Portland again, as I always do when it rains...

Well then, I leave you with a picture from Lucy Knisley (see above), a graphic novelist/comic illustrator I have been really excited about recently.

Nothing remarkably different has come about as of late, just a continuation of all that is good. I have been listening to a lot of Blind Pilot lately, as well as the audiobook version of The Picture of Dorian Grey. I keep falling asleep to the latter and am therefore led to try to recall whether any dreams were exceptionally violent. None [remembered] so far, but it's still worrisome and probably not the best bedtime material. The last This American Life episode was glorious; if you are in the States GO SEE the theatre version that is playing only once more.

Contentment

2009-04-26T07:08:00.005-07:00

I am realizing now that I wasn't terribly happy last semester. In retrospect, it's easy to blur events, but I think they were more blurred while I experienced them. I had some really enjoyable times, but now I think of how early it became dark, how cold it was and how I didn't have any consistent excercise or art (except that which was self-directed and confined to my room).

Wishing that I could experience biking during the summer in Portland once again has now been replaced with having an effective, if shaky, bike here. I feel in charge, and am not taking any courses that I don't want to. The problem with this is that I have so many couses and like them all, even the KSZE & Westeuropa one... I mean, I do not adore that classtime or the speed at which the Munich-born professor speaks, but even so, the subject matter is fascinating.

Some significant developments have been made and happen to coincide with the start of Spring and the end of my travels (for now):

1. I am no longer scared of or intimidated by politics or [neuro]science.
2. I feel very capable and brave, and see being alone as a very positive state for this time in my life.

*Photo taken in Rietberg Park in Zürich.

Venezia

2009-04-22T16:34:00.010-07:00

This post originally appeared as a journal entry ten days ago, but with the semester starting and Munich's gorgeous weather, plus my now functioning bicycle, I think I can be forgiven for the delay. Now, to relay my travel stories.

April 13th, 2009

Venice is, needless to say, astoundingly beautiful. The water that fills the canals, sloshing around bends every time a gondola or vaporetto is set into motiont, is the most perfect turquoise-blue I have ever seen. I visited a small mask shop, where the famous beak-nosed carnival masks are made personally and painstakingly by a middle-aged couple in the adjoining workshop. The cuts are so elaborate, the gold so prominent and the amount of feathers always striking, bordering on excessive. I amble through small passageways from my hostel - a gorgeous, inexpensive (for this city, at least) and 400-year-old renovated palace that has only taken guests for the past seven months and includes breakfast and dinner.

TIP: A Venice Museum (Hostel)

I then stop by a large, open air market practically empty of tourists and locals alike, where antiques, books, clothing and jewelry are being sold. I buy three very cheap but fantastically crafted glass pendants (the chains I opted to find elsewhere) and a pair of rather baroque earrings. I ponder a coffee, but feel energized already and press myself to venture into an art museum, yet the weather is too stunningly gorgeous for me not feel that I'd be making a considerable sacrifice. I do very much want to go to the Peggy Guggenheim Collection and the Park Biennale/La Biennale di Venezia, but that can wait. In the mean time, I happen to have wandered into a peaceful, pleasantly hidden courtyard that was connected to an antiquated building housing an art school. It is very mission-like in style, except for the somewhat Moroccan arched windows that seem to be everywhere in this city. It is unbelievably silent, aside from the other pairs or solitary travelers and locals who find their way in and spend the entire time quietly marveling at its beauty. The air is soft and utterly permeated with the honey-like aroma of the serpentine purple Hardenbergia flowers.

I feel a bit like I was in a monastery and have no desire to leave any time soon. A dog barks and the sound echoes through the courtyard, and suddenly I am brought back into the world. My stomach is full of bio whole-wheat crackers, mineral water and Lufthansa-provided dark Lindt chocolate. This morning I had Gruyere cheese on bread, which my grandmother lovingly ordered me to take home with me from Zürich yesterday. I have met some flirty young guys with seemingly good intentions, and that served as a nice reminder that I am in my twenties and condsidered cute (or perhaps just being female is enough). Reassurance is not needed and I am not advocating the valuing of male goal-specific friendliness, but a kind conversation, electrically-charged or not, is always enjoyable.

Italian Vocabulary

sí/no
per favore
prego
grazie
ciao/buingiorno/salve
ciao/arrivederci
mi scusi
buono
no ho capito = I don't understand
Parla inglese?
uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque, sei, sette, otto, nove, dieci
dov'e...? = where is...?
il bagno = toilet
l'autobus = bus

Later in the day I visit two galleries, wander around and explore, talk to other travelers in the hostel, stroll about with two girls from the U.S. with whom I connected fairly well, and prattled on into the night with freshly met yet enthusiastic and kind people.

Side note while sitting at table, after dinner and wine:

Everyone looks like everyone else. All faces are terribly over-symmetrically identical in a way. The more you travel around the world, the more you see this odd phenomenon. It's as if there weren't enough physical characteristics to go around. How odd it is that we think of ourselves as so unique, imagine our outward flaws as so very large and distinct.

April 14th, 2009
Best night ever

On a midnight train to Venice... actually, it's 11:23pm. I am sitting on my own in a crisp clean blue and white cabin of a train returning from Padua to Venice. Ten minutes ago I was with six Italians and a Spaniard, laughing, drinking wine from a bottle, roaming the piazzas and communicating in a hybrid version of Italian and English. This all began at Park Biennale at 1:30pm this afternoon. I bravely sought out the Peggy Guggenheim Collection only to find that it is closed on Tuesdays, so I walked to Piazza San Marco and spent a good hour and a half at the Basilica S. Marco, in awe of the golden roof of ascension and the elaborate mosaics.

Afterwards, I made the long journey to Park Biennale along the shore in the scorching Venetian sun. It was impossible not to notice the dramatic increase in humidity in comparison with the skinny shaded alleyways. I sat in the park, on the comfortably moist grass, listening to the birds, the groups laughing and picnicking, the water being splashed around by vaporettos. I listened to a bit of Blind Pilot and Bon Iver, who seemed to fit rather well in the tranquil park atmosphere, and as I began to think of taking a nap, a college-aged girl approached me and asked if I wanted a piece of cake, gesturing to her friends, a picnic blanket and a small feast. Naturally I wouldn't pass up such a chance, even when tempted by sleep (sugar or dreams, what is your drug of choice?), and so I joined them, sharing stories, opinions, translations and food. Immediately I was handed a beer and asked about my studies, home and reason for travel. It was not as much like a questionnaire as it sounds.

Chiara, a friend, me, Alejandro, Marco.

Maria and I.

We played frisbee, took photos and made both classy and obscene jokes - a winning combination. The group, then three Italians (two sisters and their flatmate) and a guy from Madrid, had come to Venice from Padua just for a day trip, and they planned to unwind a little more, maybe enjoy a coffee or gelato, then head back home to cook dinner, drink wine and have a small party. They asked if I wanted to come along - "just 30 minutes with the train!" - and I laughed it off while considering it seriously. We cleaned up the picnic area and set off to traverse through the currently closed Biennale, a great contemporary art museum where the exhibits and themes rotate annually, and which consists of several beautifully designed buildings within the park. We ran around the boarded up site, pointing at all the different country names on the buildings - one for Egypt, one for France, etc., the German one was ominous and oppressive, the Swiss one very Bauhaus - and had a good time.

We then walked back to San Marco, an experience that was still just as hot but seemed to only take half the time as before, and onward to the train station, making a necessary gelato stop along the way. After the short ride to Padua, we went by the university and to their apartment, where we drank, talked, ate, smoked and chuckled for hours, with calm downtime in between. We mostly spoke - correction, they spoke, I attempted to decipher - Italian with English translation breaks. The language's uncanny similarity to Spanish made me very grateful. We set out again at around 10:3om, in the direction of the train station (in the previous hours, five others had arrived and two had left), and i was treated to a walking tour, of the quirkiest variety, I should say, of the city and its delights. White wine in hand, we strolled leisurely to the station, where we exchanged information and made tentative plans to meet for lunch or dinner in Venice the next day. They ALL saw me off as my train pulled out, and even did a cheesy, cinematic chase after it.

I plan to head back the hostel in time to sleep a bit before registering at 5am for my Lewis & Clark Fall courses, return to bed for a few hours, and then enjoy my last full day in Venice. The feelings of calm and happiness I am experiencing now are pure and grand, and entirely my own to keep. I feel whole as I stare out at the light-reflecting yet curiously coal-colored water. I don't mind the contradiction.

April 15th, 2009

Registration issues in the wee hours caused massive stress and dancing around with a borrowed iTouch trying to get a wireless signal. To those of you planning to register for a class at your home university while abroad: Don't. Seriously. You may think that you have it in you to wake up in the middle of the night, when it's 7pm on the West Coast, but even if you do, you have no idea what outside forces will join together to work against you. In my case, it was the wireless gods. Because the hostel computer couldn't get a signal, I missed my registration time and had to sign up late after asking around (at 5am) for the use of someone's computer. I did not get my Behavioral Neuroscience course that I was really looking forward to, and I didn't realize how much I wanted it until after I had to waitlist. It really hurt, actually.

After the chaos, however, I slept solidly for a few hours and then headed off to the Peggy Guggenheim... and L'Academia (which is only 3,25 Euro for EU citizens under 25. They gave me the discount with my Swiss ID card. Ha. Silly. People wonder why Switzerland doesn't join the EU, well it's because it is practically part of it anyway). Modern art for breakfast, classic and antique for lunch. Splendid diet, I would say. I scribbled furiously in my notebook about pieces I loved, specifically Umberto Boccioni's "Materia" (1912). I also liked the commentary the [Guggen.] museum provided for Sironi's "La Ballerina:"

The Italian futurists displayed Nietzchean attitude towards women and considered them a "menace" to men. Sensual, female and nude women were banned as subject matter temporarily. The figure in Sironi's work is a hybrid woman machine, hygenic with metallic high black boots [paraphrased].

I spent the evening walking around with two girls, one Colombian, one Chilean, whom I had met that morning. I had satisfying hostel-cooked pasta dinner and talked with a group of Berkley students all originally from California, plus a nice girl from Colorado.

April 16th, 2009
Ciao, Venezia!

I am in the airport fantastically early (due to recent lessons learned) and experienced no stress during check-in or the long security line. I had a fairly inexpensive salad (SALAD! How I have missed you in this land of pasta!) with olives, tomatoes and mozarella, some bread and a banana. Earlier I gobbled down my last two remaining carrots, and my body thanked me for the Vitamin B after three days straight of egg and toast breakfasts. My opinion of traveling alone is positive. One must be more careful in many ways, from walking at night to making sure not to miss a bus or flight.

I was astounded, though, by how many people I met! This never happens in such a dramatic fashion when I travel as a pair or in a group. People sense that you have stories and want so much a person with whom they can share their own. For this reason, travelers bond instantly and magnetically, like children at sleep-away camp. Aside from the Basilica, Peggy Guggenheim Collection, Park Biennale, Academia and the canals, my favorite part of the trip was Padua. As far as meeting people goes, that was the ultimate experience and I will be telling of it for years to come.

P.S. As for the schedule issues in the coming Fall, this is something I can warn future Munich-bound students about and also anyone who studies abroad and could potentially face this problem. Let the registrar do it for you if you are abroad!!

EDIT: I got my neuroscience course!!! After emailing back and forth with the professor and making a very convincing argument for myself, she rearranged the waitlist so that I could get into the class. I am overjoyed by this, and will appreciate the class much more because of the difficulty, i.e. the suffering and squirming. I also go into a capstone course that I had not been looking at before and was actually an alternative plan: the Social Construction of Madness. I had all the prereqs but one, Abnormal Psychology, so I made a case for my experience with children with autism and Asperger's Syndrome as well as high school students who were aggressive externalizers and depressive internalizers. So now I am waiting if I can be put back into Biology (which Webadvisor unregistered me for when I made a stupid error) and if/when German will work out. I still have Psychology of Gender. So yeah... more classes than necessary.

Last notes on Barcelona

2009-04-17T12:55:00.002-07:00

A great deal has happened between the last days in Barcelona and now, namely trips to Zürich and Venice as well as an eventual and somewhat more permanent landing in Munich. The Spring semester starts on Monday and I will be taking a series of fascinating courses, theatre/literature, art therapy and puppet-making and performance, to name a few. But alas, before I go on to detail my time in Venice or any recent contemplations, I wanted to write a quick wrap-up of Barcelona, just for finality's sake.

A sample of a typical day in Gaudí's city, when I was not taking a Spanish course, was as follows:

Mulled around in the morning checking emails and preparing breakfast, left the apartment, browsed some boutiques, picked up apples, tangerines and almonds at a shop... Went to Café El Jardín, walked a lot around the area beforehand, gazed at window displays and passed the Museum of Contemporary art... Drank a capuccino, read part of Reborn (Susan Sontag), perused La Central bookstore, bought "Cualquier sencilla intimidad" by the American graphic novelist Jeffrey Brown (translation was simple, easy to understand), went grocery shopping for real food, talked with Ivanna, chatted with Johanna and Andrew online, putzed further on the computer and had dinner before reading.

I have also, out of a selfish desire to return as well as for the benefit of other travelers to Spain, compiled a list of my favorite things in Barcelona.

Lola Mora Delicatessen: amazing traditional but plastic table clothe that made me think of middle-aged Mexican housewives who prepare lunch as their husbands and sons go, once again, to watch the cock fights. In this delicatessen I perceived that the Spanish really understand the indie persuasion, hipsters, and all of these ridiculously stereotypical but nonetheless fascinating and intellectual subgroups of society. They offered quirkiness, good products, art and music, kind service. These are the elements that together create the successful 'hole-in-the-wall' but raved about hipster haunt that kindly caters to vegetarians.
The drawer man sculpture in the Dalí Museum
Huge wall-papered room in MACBA with couple undressing and initiating sex as a pattern, repeated over and over in a Rorschach-like visual pun that proved an outrageously colorful sight.
The rolling chairs and other stoll or couch-like objects with wheels, the people sitting, laughing and spinning as part of a public art piece in the MACBA area.
The dance performance part of La Dansa, with the crumpling of paper and the body; the petite elegant woman with a pixie cut contorting herself, wrapping the paper continuously around her head.
The theatre piece from Amsterdam, also part of La Dansa and in English, at the performing arts center. The seemingly eternal stillness of the players, the actors, then the beginning of their monologues and the concurrent montionlessness of their bodies... "I imagine I am a forest, growing, reaching, lusting for the sunlight" [paraphrased]. They each imagined themselves and included the other characters and the audience when desired. Lights out, switch places. When the lights came up, they were in the same positions. The violent shaking that their bodies involuntarily exhibited from holding a position so long was memorable, as was the notion reached in the conclusion, of the endless possibility of the imagination.
The Germans! They were everywhere!
Biking along the beach, through the narrow roads, around tourists and other pedestrians.
My Beautiful Parking, the bike shop
Reading, loitering in bookshops, devouring the English section and taking furtive glances at the Spanish one.
Walking, walking, walking until my back and legs ached and cried out at night with pain in the creaky, flimsy twin bed.
Not being afraid of lighting the fire for the gas range stove anymore. Once singing the tips of my arm hairs and not noticing until Ivanna tittered uncontrollably and pointed it out.
Sunbathing, reading, eating, drinking or just thinking on the small but perfectly-located and ever-sunny balcony.
Developing my personality, maturing, blah blah psychobabble.
Catalunya Square, watching the people feed and frolick around the pigeons, taking in the Spring warmth with my book.
Well Park Güell and Sagrada Familia, of course.
Primavera Park, Montjuïc, the beautiful walk up, the well-manicured garden and the panoramic view of Barcelona (where the skytram brings you).
Hearing Swiss-German on two seperate and stomach butterfly-inducing occassions.
Picasso Museum: his early and concentrated self portraits
The attractive, calm-voiced German man with his gorgeous boxer dog.
Kiki Smith: "Her Memory," an exhibit concentrating on femininity, seated/standing/lying levels of posture, birds in flight, death and the life cycle, windows, glass and sculpture. This was in the fantastic Museo Miró.
Sensing, very acutely and not a moment too soon, that I will go insane without a bike and to the constant, reliable easy freedom it provides.

My Night in a BCN Airport: Finding Humor in an Otherwise Shitty Situation

2009-04-08T18:00:00.009-07:00

As I sit in my well lit, comfortable room in Munich feeling very at peace and positive, I cannot help but reflect on the scaled-down tragicomedy that I endured one night ago. What happened to me was what frequently happens to those who travel, are stressed or an overly confident that the world acts only in their favor. I had seen it happen to my parents and to enraged customers many times before, yet I never thought I - in an egotistical fairytale complex sort of way - would fall victim to it: I arrived 10 minutes to late for my check-in time for the Barcelona-Munich flight, although before boarding began or the gate closed, and was not allowed to make the flight. The check-in time was cerrado, a concept that I took a long moment to comprehend. How can you close time?

What? This can’t happen.

It did though, and after talking to many different airport employees, I was told that the only option was to buy another ticket. The cheap ticket I had found through a travel site did not permit rebooking OR the issuing of a refund. I was completely out of luck and again could not believe that, to reveal how fortunate I have been in life, this could happen to me. Two other German women were talking hurriedly with the employee at the next window, and I realized that they were in the exact same situation, also intending to go to Munich. The only difference was that they had been in the airport the whole time, drinking coffee and relaxing before the flight. I suppose I could blame the extra long bus ride to the airport, but it was quite obviously my own fault. I had gotten so used to European standards of travel, especially train, and started to maintain an unconscious belief that travel within the EU was equivalent to domestic travel in the US. One mustn’t arrive a freakish two hours early, I rationalized, for a one hour flight. There had been some close calls before, but never anything like this. Maybe the American standard of paranoia regarding punctuality and plane travel is not so bad, I thought.

I purchased the ticket with Spanair, my original airline, after comparing prices with Lufthansa. The current time was 8pm, and my scheduled flight took off at 10:30am the next morning. Feeling as though I had said my final goodbyes to Barcelona and to my flatmates, I opted rather decisively to spend the night at the airport. The story that follows is an account of the fifteen and a half hour ordeal, from the wait time to landing, complete with sketches and writing that fill thirty pages of my small Moleskine.

My night in a BCN airport.

So it begins…

You want to be that ambling nomadic Dylanesque figure you’ve always admired? Well then, here’s your chance.

Over the next few hours, I plan to observe and ponder this bizarre muddle of expectant strangers at El Prat Airport in Barcelona. This for a girl who, as a child, busied herself with elaborate theatrical pieces, roles filled by oversized paperclips, in Mailboxes, Etc. while her father filled out countless forms. Right then. Here are the details:

Original time of departure: 19:55 April 6th
New flight: 10:30 April 7th
Current time: 22:15
Hours remaining: 12 hrs. 15 min.

The first two hours have not been terribly unpleasant. Now, when the night crowd arrives, crawling out of their shadows, this is when the entertainment starts. These are the Red Eye flying, bargain-addicted travelers; they are the pissed, tired and hungry foreigners who have been screwed over by their airlines and are just, for fuck’s sake, trying to get to London. These people are the elderly hyper-punctuals and, the suave young loiterers with their crunchy gelled hair and infrequently victorious attempts at picking up the stranded and forlorn female travelers.

There are those who look as if this wait has no psychological impact on them whatsoever, as if they just happened to drive extra 10km for that cup of coffee they could have purchased down the street. Scarcely any children are around, but in their place is a staggering display of paper espresso cups, covering all available table space. There is also the fact that it is ridiculously crowded here for 10pm on a Monday night, and there are multiple games of cards, never-ending and varied in nature, concerned faces, gift-wrapped packages, waiting eagerly and pregnant with potential atop luggage, rides on baggage carts, and hushed conversations. In the midst of all this, there is also me. Hello, El Prat de Ilobregat. In the coming hours, we will become fairly well acquainted.

Original time of departure: 19:55 April 6th
New flight: 10:30 April 7th
Current time: 22:15
Hours remaining: 12 hrs. 15 min.

The first two hours have not been terribly unpleasant. Now, when the night crowd arrives, crawling out of their shadows, this is when the entertainment starts. These are the Red Eye flying, bargain-addicted travelers; they are the pissed, tired and hungry foreigners who have been screwed over by their airlines and are just, for fuck’s sake, trying to get to London. These people are the elderly hyper-punctuals and, the suave young loiterers with their crunchy gelled hair and infrequently victorious attempts at picking up the stranded and forlorn femaletravelers.

There are those who look as if this wait has no psychological impact on them whatsoever, as if they just happened to drive extra 10km for that cup of coffee they could have purchased down the street. Scarcely any children are around, but in their place is a staggering display of paper espresso cups, covering all available table space. There is also the fact that it is ridiculously crowded here for 10pm on a Monday night, and there are multiple games of cards, never-ending and varied in nature, concerned faces, gift-wrapped packages, waiting eagerly and pregnant with potential atop luggage, rides on baggage carts, and hushed conversations. In the midst of all this, there is also me. Hello, El Prat de Ilobregat. In the coming hours, we will become fairly well acquainted.

Observation #1:
It’s peculiar how linguistic quirks, filler words and idioms from your mother language spill out of the mouth violently, rapidly and without your knowledge or permission. I overhear a man with impeccable, rapid English who nonetheless repeatedly says “pero, pero que…, bueno, or sí, sí” in conversation.

Observation #2:
A giant group of Spaniards most likely returning from Mexico is talking loudly, wearing obscenely bright colors and sombreros, eating, laughing, and taking chaotic group photos. I wonder what they are doing here, why they aren’t going directly home or onward to the next destination. Strange…

Observation #3:
The noise is what is most surprising. It could easily be 2pm, based on the level of energy and volume with which the people all speak.

This place is like an overly lit and very spacious bar, although albiet located.

Sketch: paper plate, crumpled paper pastry bag, apple core

Observation #5:
It is getting colder with each passing hour. My friend’s warnings about the frigid temperature in the Istanbul airport may hold true here as well.

Sketch of one of van Gogh’s drawings

Observation #6:
The Italians – they have ceased to be Spaniards in my reassessment – are howling like wolves. This was sparked by a simultaneous “Oooh” emitted by a group of teen girls (presumably from the same group). The boys responded in kind, only as animals.

Night. Night. Night.

Van Gogh was obsessed with the shadows, alleys and lurking miscreants that came out at that time. Bars are always ripe for social observations. Oh yes, it’s strange that I see myself now, with a rapid turn-around at age 13 (public school and puberty being likely contributors) into a more outgoing person, as an extrovert. I am passionate about psychology for many reasons, though, and one of them is that I understand what it feels like to be an outsider, as well as what this perception does to a person. It means to live with a self-imposed stigmatization that is more egoistic that outwardly obvious, but detrimental nonetheless. In the end, to bring to mind Susan Sontag, it is all about the ego.

Who are we other than the minds we possess and the bodies we inhabit? [This is an atheist’s statement if there ever was one.] We relate to others only in terms of how similar or dissimilar they are to us. If we find their shared characteristics and foreign ones fascinating, we are then compelled to see them as fascinating. When the differences are too great (or when they are perhaps really our own qualities but exaggerated like the disturbing reflection in a carnival mirror in that person’s seemingly cumbersome fashion), we are uninterested in the individual.

Current time: 11:00pm
11.5 hours to go, and I desperately want to scoff at that miniscule amount. I have slept that long before. I have been suspended in flights on long-distance plane trips in that amount of time. This should be manageable. It is highly likely that I am still in denial of what lies ahead.

Or maybe the Spanitalians are actually Portuguese. It is normally not this hard to tell. It just sounds so similar but not quite identical to Spanish.

Thoughts on Venice: [A planned trip that I rethought after this unexpected expense]

Ultimately, the option of rescheduling or canceling my trip (and not losing money in the process) is not up to me but rather to the travel company. It can’t hurt to make a list of pros and cons for later reference, though.

PRO – Venice Apr. 13-16

- I really want to go (in life or now)
- The beauty, architecture, canals and museums, plus the markets and people
- The sun, the moments in cafés that will be had
- It will still be very festive after Easter, I believe

CON – Venice Apr. 13-16

- Money reasons, especially after having to purchase the ticket back to Munich from BCN
- I have been sitting in cafés and unwinding or reflecting for the past month. It’s almost getting old.
- Registration issues with my classes [for Lewis & Clark College in Portland next fall], waking up at 5am for it
- It will be so very expensive

With this BCN-MUC ticket I could have traveled from Munich to Copenhagen to Stokholm and back to Munich (the 217 Euro combination of plane tickets I researched earlier), the trip I am planning for July and August. Gah.

Why am I still here? I want to go home. Home: Munich, Portland, San Carlos, even Tempe with my parents. That is more homey than this airport.

Oh god. It’s only 11:15pm.
11 hours, 15 minutes left.

Stop. Counting. It’s like math class as a kid. Tick, tick, tick. When will that damn bell ring? I want to go to recess, play four square and eat string cheese. Are these my own memories? Collective consciousness ingested through film and television? I think they are somewhat my own. I remember the string cheese vividly.

I ate snails last night in Spain. Out with flatmates, four glasses of wine (over a many hour period). There was also something that might have had…

Interrupt due to Observation #7:
RANDOM SPONTANEOUS APPLAUSE, YELLING. Then silence. Some people filmed it. What the hell was that about?

…ham in it, but you couldn’t tell because it was breaded and fried, with no visible… chunks. Meghan (also not a carnivore) ordered it and we sinned together, each making the other’s misstep slightly less shameful. Bad semi-vegetarians. Bad, bad, bad. Hilarious jackassery on Charlie’s part, with the squealing piglet imitations and all.

BEST thing about going back to Munich = Far. Less. Mullets.

Observation #8:
I was amused by and photographed a bouquet dispenser in the greeting area for arrivals. “Hi hon, I picked up these flowers for you, along with some Cheetos and a Coke – man, is that a multi-purpose vending machine!

Observation #9:
Terminal A is, as if its name were to reflect its letter grade in cleanliness, better equipped with better seats (the ‘comfy’ kind) and has more restaurants than Terminal B. There is also non-stop classical music. If B is poorer than A in aesthetic niceties, is C therefore much mangier than B and therefore the ultimate in shoddiness?

Flight of the Bumblebee is playing and my heart has started to race.This melody is way to stressful for this environment, I couldn’t imagine a worse pairing. Perhaps pop music and gang violence, though I can’t say for sure.

Observation #10:
I’m sorry not to mask my utter wonderment, but I just saw the first homeless person here. That is to say that his home is the airport, so perhaps that title does not fit – nor is the pretension and disgusting classism implicit in the novelty I saw in this situation excusable. But still, the thought of living here, spending both your nights and waking hours in this vast fluorescent hell… the knowledge of its unfavorable conditions for sleeping followed by the submission of sleeping here, where it is warmer and safer than outdoors, and where there are many toilets… that is surprising yet understandable to me. The fact that I could afford to pay for my stupidity by booking a new flight, the fact that I can afford to fly in general, have a laptop, attend a private university, have an individual room and health insurance and all these luxuries means that I am not aware of suffering on any real level. I am not lacking in amenities or belongings, family support or education.

Swallow that first, then whine about one night in an airport. This is an exception to my normal daily activities and a fairly romanticized notion of adventure, not my forced way of life.

The TIME is: 12:00am

10.5 hours left
First attempt at sleep was made.

Duration: 25 minutes
Method: As the benches were designed to discourage people from lying down and thus have a large half-trapezoid steel bar between each seat, reaching a position that mimicked something close to comfort proved challenging. I wrapped my scar around my eyes, faced belly toward rather than away – this is impossible and could result in curving your spine in an inhuman way – from the divider, in something like a fetal position, used my bag and large jacket as a pillow, and a smaller jacket as a blanket. This worked pretty well, but my comfort level was about here:

See Graph

Food Consumed Today:

- Bran cereal with strawberries. Only the small boring ones were left.
- A few stolen stale biscuits from my flatmate’s forgotten box in the kitchen
- SUSHI BUFFET

Rolls upon rolls of sushi with salmon, avocado, cucumber, crab or other ingredients, lots of grilled asparagus, tomatoes, a little rice, more sushi. Dessert: scoop of orange ice cream, kiwis, lychee berries, unidentified candy that Charlie declared to be rat droppings, candy. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so full in my life. I was not hungry for about 7 hours afterward.

- Apple, cheese on baguette with strange lackluster tomatoey spread, most of a baby Toblerone, water
- Second apple

Current Apple Ration: 2 eaten. 1 remaining.

I also have bran cereal in my suitcase…

Moment of Weakness 12:48am
I ate the second to last triangle piece of Toblerone. It’s almost all gone now.

The classical music never stops.

Second Attempt at Sleep:

Duration: 41 minutes
Method: See previous trial
Results: I feel mildly refreshed, but my eyes feel terribly dry and I could probably sleep for about fifteen hours if placed in a big cushy bed in a pitch black right now. My dreams were fantastically psychedelic, rapid, colorful, and creative. Sleep deprivation and classical music can have that effect, I suppose. Also, when a person is very exhausted, the brain enters REM immediately to recuperate from the lack of rest and the dreams are exquisitely intense.

I had the scarf wrapped around my head like a blindfold, blocking out the light. It looked very silly [Drawing].

Current Time: 1:50am
Remaining Time: 8 hrs. 40 min.
Time goes faster when I write than when I try to trick my body into sleeping. [Drawing of bed in Munich].

I desperately need to brush my teeth.

Update 2:20am
Time Remaining: 8 hrs. 10 min.
I feel better after washing my face and brushing my teeth. The nighttime ritual also established some sense of normalcy and helped to eat up time, of which I have plenty. I have never been this on time for a flight in my entire personal history. Ha.

Noteworthy Victory:
I have found and secured a bench for myself with NO CENTER BAR! Lying down! The negative side is that a man in the bathroom right next to this bench is hacking up a lung and lots of mucus. Where did that classical music go?? I also have a neighbor on this bench who is reveling in its semi-sleep-worthy capacity. She looks normal, young, well dressed. Just another person who messed up and didn’t want to book a hotel. Her feet smell horrendous, though, and she has kindly removed her shoes to allow fellow bench dozers a better whiff.

Current Time: 3:56am
Time Remaining: 6 hrs. 34 min.
I had a somewhat successful attempt at sleeping and made things more or less comfortable. Even though I have not, in all these naps and attempts, drifted out of consciousness and was always cognizant of the sounds (hand dryer, four times in a row… your hands are fucking dry, ok?) going on around me, it’s been helpful to have a little bit of peace. I am already excited about the stores opening in the morning – New Things To See! – and going through security at 5am or so. I have a window seat in the second row. Munich. Munich. Bed. Bed. So much thinking while I try to sleep. In my thoughts I am more articulate that what I am writing now. The effects are already showing, which makes me feel weak. I pulled so many all-nighters for IB classes in high school or exams in the past three years of college. This should not be so hard. Oh nooo… asshole spitting man sauntered over to the bathroom just now. Here we go again.

I feel a certain sense of solidarity with this nice jeans smelly feet girl sleeping two seats over. We are both trying hard and putting in a great deal of effort into accomplishing something highly unlikely to succeed: sleep in this airport. I feel guilty chewing bran flakes and moving the plastic bag. I tried no to move around too much while lying because it rattle the bench. It’s an odd thing to bond with a stranger over something so miniscule and without their knowledge.

P.S. Spitting man seems to be feeling better.

The time is 5:15am, and the airport is alive again. Time remaining: 5 hrs. 15 min. It is still too early for me to check in and the latest flights displayed are only at 9:10, but a glimmer of hope exists. I am having a supremely mediocre café con leche and a several day old croissant.

It is now 6:15, exactly an hour later. I putzed around on my computer for a while sans internet-connection and read many PDF versions of Spanish children’s stories that Andrew sent me. Look! I’m being industrious. The battery reached a critical low and I am left to my own devices for the time being. They are playing Beyoncé’s If I Were a Boy in the candy and stuffed animal shop that just opened. Who wants Beyoncé and candy at this hour?

6:17am
I suppose I do. The last mini triangle of Toblerone has been consumed.
Still don’t think I can check in. The latest flight is at 9:10, as it was before.

Observation #11:
There is an utter lack of power outlets in this airport. Where are they?? Have you seen any?

I have developed a nervous tick from consciously sniffling once (it’s really more like a subtle intake of breath) every time I move my hair over my ears. I notice whenever I do this, but just after, when it’s too late to catch it and correct the behavior.

It’s now 7:32am. I am past security and have been browsing around in the shops. It’s all so lively and fancy and I am just so very tired…

But The End Is In Sight!

Shops, shops, shops. Such shiny objects and so expensive, too. I almost fell asleep in a bathroom stall. I closed my eyes and tilted my head down a little, then suddenly I made an involuntary jerk. Awake! Yes, I am awake! The time is 7:55am. I have 2,10 Euro and urgently require orange juice. I think I know where my gate it now. There is a huge waiting space with benches sans dividers. Oh yes.

8:20am
I am drinking an over-priced, far too sweet glass of Minute Maid orange juice and the taste is, at this very instant, much appreciated. I have no complaints. I am watching the planes pass, take off, and taxi like fat oblong seagulls against the pastel pink backdrop of a sky. This is calming, yet I do not know why. That must be the reason they created those enormous windows, to let in light and to pacify and distract stressed travelers. It’s rather hypnotic. After seeing my reflection in the bathroom mirror on this side of security, where the lighting is warmer and less harsh, allowing you to encounter a more human, healthy person in your reflection, I noticed that I did not look all that bad for someone who spent the last 13 hours in the airport without real sleep.

It’s now 9:40am. The benches in the M3 waiting area are so unbelievably comfortable and ergonomically designed. Lack of a soft surface has made me so grateful for them that I’d fill my living room with these tilted back benches, perhaps lining them along the walls as couches or in rows like a movie theatre. Chop a bench in half and you have a love seat, whereas one chair alone is perfect for reading. When friends visit, you can sit face to face, reclining leisurely in your own row of airport chairs.

I have such a headache and am so damn hungry again. I want that emergency chocolate!

10:20am
Boarded. Sitting in the plane. Thank god.

11:50am
This is by far slowest plane flight ever. The clouds look like letters and spell out sideways A and vertical F. AF. I get frantic with anticipation whenever I hear the wheels of a could-be beverage cart moving or the crinkling plastic sound of joy that accompanies snacks. My current greatest fear is (aside from the rational fear of losing luggage) missing the snacks.

I WANT TO GO HOME NOW PLEASE.

Lesson learned. Very expensively, at that. Don’t dilly dally on your way to the airport. Always be early. I was awake for the last snack handout and extended my hand enthusiastically. It was a lozenge. How disappointing. Still, I would have hated missing it.

12:30am
Regardless of all this, the feelings of glee and warmth I experienced while looking over my picturesque fairy tale German city were so profound. I am happy to be back. Tired, extremely sore, and a bit poorer, but glad to be home again. Endlich wieder zu Hause.

The End. El fin. Das Ende.

2:18pm
Just kidding. Apparently all forces are working against me. I am ONE STOP from home and the U-Bahn is stalled indefinitely, so I stand here with my bags. I bought potatoes at the supermarket in the airport so I could make soup tonight. Yeah. They are great fun to carry.

At 2:30pm, April 7th, I arrived in my room, flung open my windows and washed up, dancing with glee at having my very own room again. The weather was glorious and my mood was elevated. I slept for a few hours and then spent time with friends. It was quite amazing after the hectic experience.

Hello again, Munich. I have never been so happy to be home.

Creativity

2009-04-06T02:25:00.000-07:00

Music video based on the artwork of Marcel Dzama:

Book List Update

2009-04-05T03:19:00.002-07:00

Books Purchased:

Laughter in the Dark - Vladimir Nabokov
Franny and Zooey - J.D. Salinger
The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
The Book of Other People - anothology, ed. Zadie Smith
The Insomniac Reader - anothology, ed. Kevin Sampsell
Reborn - Susan Sontag (collection of her journals, ed. by her son)
How We Are Hungry - Dave Eggers
Junky - William S. Burroughs
Cualquier Sencilla Intimidad - Jeffrey Brown (orig. in English)

Books Read:

The Secret History - Donna Tart
Blankets - Craig Thompson
Laughter in the Dark - Vladimir Nabokov
How We Are Hungry - Dave Eggers
Franny and Zooey - J.D. Salinger
Reborn - Susan Sontag
The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
Cualquier Sencilla Intimidad - Jeffrey Brown
The Insomniac Reader - anothology, ed. Kevin Sampsell (updated 4/17)

Mau Mau Underground

2009-03-27T01:48:00.004-07:00

The white sofa filled and silver-walled bar reminds me if a bizarre dream in which I would meet Miró or John Lennon, either of the two, though someone like Dali would be too surreal for the moment. A supreme moment of self-satisfaction and comfort in solitude was experienced in the bar when Belle and Sebastian's "Is it Wicked Not to Care" played. The black and white video illustrated scenes of daises, pendants on shirt sleeves, the playing of a violin and a guitar in an open meadow, and two men sword-fighting in kilts (paying homage to the band's Scottish roots?) in front of a castle. As always, a youngish figure wearing a striped shirt was reading a book.

Lieblingsband? Yes.

The Glory Days

2009-03-21T16:15:00.005-07:00

Planning is what makes me feel in control of things. When I have a plan, I have a mode of action and can align all my thoughts in such a way to fit into that seemingly perfect, uncorrupted - while unrealized - plan. I will live here, I will do this, etc. But admitting you have no idea who the hell you are or what you want out of life is a behavior, a confession, common among people my age and readily made at that. Also changing is my views in consumption of goods, substances and ideas as well as my attitude toward money. I was more wary of this world before, and am now surprised because I believed people usually experience a reverse shift in behavior, from reckless to cautious? After their glory days and such...

Graffiti in a less historical but less overly-developed area of Barcelona

I do not consider myself to be an overly cautious person, and as such, I never thought I needed to become more loose, more risk-taking. I know that I am, as my Oma put it "viel zu sparsam," and I understand that money does not have to be saved for the sake of saving. I understand the value of work enough to gain fulfillment from it when I am actively employed and to appreciate the relaxed pace of life without meaningless jobs that serve only to pay the bills. I have all of my twenties to live in a way, or in various ways, that I see fit, yet I suppose planning and replanning will always be a part of it.

Here's how things are looking now:

March 8th-April 6th
Barcelona: classes, life, relaxing, art

April 6th-13th
Munich: unwind, register for classes, repair bike
Perhaps short trip to Zürich...

April 13th-16th
Venice: explore, indulge

April 16th-20th
Munich: last vacation days, take Spanish test

April 20th-July 25th
Munich: semester - study study study
Weekend trips: Dresden, Berlin, Prague, Zürich
Internship: teach English now and then at Montessori im Olympiapark

July 26th-August 1st
Stockholm + Copenhagen: TRAVEL + BIKE

August 1st - August 27th
Munich, Switzerland, any last travel desires

August 27th
Portland: Be home, be an adult, well-traveled, smart, sophisticated
Last year as an undergrad!

I have also been planning courses for next semester and fall semester. Gleichzeitig. Crazy, right? I am looking to take Behavioral Neuroscience, Biology (requirement for the oh so well-rounded liberal arts degree), German 410, Psychology of Gender, then perhaps yoga and Spanish conversation. It will be interesting to have a very scientific semester. Psychology of Gender may turn out to be my favorite class. Or, who knows, Behavioral Neuroscience... Imagine that.

Yet once again to discuss Barcelona: the trees here are like thos ein Monterey or Carmel. Beautiful, wrapping over their own branches and reaching for the sky, covered by thick and lush green leaves.

Today I spent a great deal of time at the Museu d'Art Contemporani de Barcelona (MACBA) and saw the Rabascall, Cildo Meireles and Thomas Bayrle exhibits as well as the main collection. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience and was especially intrigued by the main collection and Thomas Bayrle's works.

Apfelbrei, Thomas Bayrle

Something terribly remarkable was a room in the museum, part of the Meireles exhibit, that was filled with entirely red objects. Loveseats, frames, glasses, jewelry, paintings, rugs, assorted knick-knacks, a typewriter and more items were fully or mostly red. This gave the room a bold and over-energetic, unnatural feel that made me uneasy just to walk through it. Rounding the courner into a dark space adjoining the room, I noticed a carefully placed bottle made to look as if it was spilling out a red liquid. The pool of dye was made of plastic and encompassed the entire floor, leading the viewer to an even darker section where it was impossible to perceive the depth or width of the room. The only lit space was that where a crooked sink drink ominously, continously but still rather quietly. After playing at finding the black wall next to me, I turned back into the red room and left that exhibit. It was a surreal experience, no doubt.

My favorite part of today's artistic indulgence was that in front of the museum and next to the university (wonderful pairing of public spaces) there were stools, chairs and sofas everywhere. All these furnishings had wheels and many were attached to one another in circular or otherwise bizarre forms. People were laughing, sitting, wheeling, playing with the chairs and others photographed it all. Some students came by, unfazed, found a spot to sit, lit their cigarettes and continued an apparently deep and gripping conversation that had probably started in the lecture hall. The open concrete plaza is apparently a meeting point for skaters, whose actions fit in perfectly with the newly mobile world around them. A great mental image I have of the spontaneity is a father wearing rollerblades pushing his son around at full-speed in an office chair. They arrived well-dressed for the occasion, I believe.

My days in Barcelona

2009-03-15T06:12:00.003-07:00

This post is divided into two seperate parts corresponding to entries in my notebook, plus a third that is just made up of today's reflections.

Part I (Friday)

This city is extraordinarily beautiful in architecture, people, scenery and sounds. From the chaos and overpopulation of tourists in La Rambla to the mellowness of the port, Barcelona is quite something. This past week has consisted of getting to know the city, even the less traversed, less touristy nooks. Our class was at first postponed, so we had a week to indulge in sights and have an actual vacation. Today, however, after going to the school office, we learned that the class had been cancelled. All right, I thought, that leaves three weeks prepaid rent in Barcelona with my limited Spanish and Ivanna's utter lack thereof. I already had conversations with bankers, city officials and store owners in Spanish, which was remarkable considering how little I recall and how horribly I must have conjugated verbs, etc. Now a class would be nice.

We have, however, seen Sagrada Familia, Park Güell, the Grácia district, the old center and La Rambla where we live, Gaudí's other buildings and numerous other noteworthy places, like the beach. I took part in a great bike tour and was thrilled to ride again, especially in such weather. Our housemates are friendly: two other Americans, an Irish guy and a guy from Turkey. The gender ratio is even, with three women and three men, and this is comforting. They all know good local bars, of course and are in their mid to late 20s. I always happen to be the youngest. People on the Munich program are making their way through spain, and I will see a few of them here this month, while having the upper hand as far as knowing where everything is located, muahaha.

Part II (Saturday)

So, now to illustrate a complete turn-around in mood compared to yesterday (which now as I reread the segment doesn't seem so glum, though my thoughts were more pessimistic), when I started writing. First order of business: we found a school that costs half the price of the old one, is a five minute walk from home, is highly recommended by an acquaintance and is taught by people with MAs in Spanish from the University of Barcelona. We are going on Monday to register in person, just before we get our refunds from the old school. Reason number two for my good mood is that I have a bike today. After searching a bit, I found an independent shop called My Beautiful Parking - the kind that would exist in Portland - where it costs 5 euro for five hours. The bike I have is a lime green and obviously well-loved Hercules. I was disappointed after not being able to do the Bicing program (26 euro a year bike sharing) because I am not a resident, and I was put off by the 15 euro daily cost of most rental places. The place I found is great and had flyer for the "Filmed By Bike" festival in Portland!

So now, I am sitting by the port admiring the bike and having sangria before going off again. People-watching here is great. The young female American tourists that come in gaggles are ridiculous. Hypocrisy abounds! I keep meeting and conversing with Germans, which is amusing. The third reason for my good mood is alone time. Ahhh I missed this. I was really clear about when I needed it in Amsterdam with Emily and Anna, probably because I know them well and will see them plenty next year. Ivanna and I, though, are sharing a room and want to see all the same sights, so until today (aside from the bike tour earlier this week), we haven't had much of a break from one another. I forgot how solitary I have become and really always was, as well as how well that way of being works for me.

Part III Sunday

Today I had breakfast on the balcony and read in the sunlight. I picked up a copy of Barcelona's alternative newspaper earlier and managed to get through the Spanish parts with a dictionary on hand. I also read a bit of Dave Eggers' How We Are Hungry and basked in the sun, lost in thought. I love lazy Sundays. After getting my fill of that aforementioned alone time, Ivanna and I will go to a café by the sea and further unwind. I am really getting a grip on what I want out of life, how important art and travel are to me, and such things. Here's to being 21 in Barcelona. Cheers, prost, salud.

Amsterdam

2009-03-11T17:29:00.003-07:00

So now, a post is long overdue. First order of business is Amsterdam.

Mittwoch:

- Arrived at Schipol, took the train into Amsterdam Centraal Station
- Walked around and explored Old Centre
- Had a capuccino and scone at a delightful café
- Went to the Anne Frank Huis... cried
- Had tapas at a Spanish restaurant
- Roamed the Red Light District
- Saw Slumdog Millionaire in English, Dutch and Hindi in the famous Tschunski Theatre (beautiful and art deco).

Donnerstag

- Flowermarket, Dutch pancakes and mint tea
- Exploring from Old Centre to Museum Quarter
- Van Gogh Museum, "Colors of the Night" exhibit
- Coffee & ridiculously over-priced triangle of a sandwich, then an organic market
- Art bookstore! Hours of reading, walking, people-watching
- Brownie and such at a Coffee Shop
- Thai food!!

Nice memories:

- German conversation in bookstore with clerk/owner, whose mother was a German teacher.
- Colors of the Night audio tour - heard van Gogh's correspondence and comments on paintings... was that Ralph Feinnes speaking?

Birthday:

- JORDAAN
- Exhorbant amount of galeries
- Book store
- Exploring of Jordaan area
- Indian food!

Samstag:

- Bike Tour
- through city, along Amstel River, into country, windmill, cheese & clog farm/makers,
Hilton where Yoko and John stayed and had peace conference, random sights.
- Albert Cup Market
- colors, beauty, food, people-watching, noise and potent smells
- walking around, getting another view of Amsterdam (how minorities and poor live)
- Reading in a café, writing

Good mental image: small children sitting in a bakfiet filling their cheeks with air.

One day I shall live in Amsterdam.

Blumenauer, bikes, books + birthday

2009-03-03T05:42:00.011-08:00

Granted, Earl Blumenauer did get very caught up in the whole monkey business (ape pet ban) and was then mocked on the Daily Show, but the Democratic Representative from Portland does have a good point about humane animal treatment. On a extreme tangent, however, I wanted to remark on his Portland-specific pin.
Notice the orange bike pin in this image. Not only is Blumenauer a huge bike advocate and one of the only congressmen in DC who frequently bikes to work, but he also demonstrates his support in a prominently visible manner. The bike pin, in neon green or orange, has circulated around Portland and is often given out freely at any bike-related event, may very well be attributed to Blumenauer's perceived quirky nature. His bow-tie has caused Orville Redenbacher comparisons to be drawn and his ardent sustainable transportation campaigning has been viewed by some as over-zealous, yet I see nothing quirky about a practical reevaluation of our current, flawed system of over-dependence on automobiles.
In other, more self-involved news, I am looking forward to leaving for Amsterdam tomorrow! My birthday is this coming Friday, and along with some friends I had an early celebration here in Munich. There was wine, tea, appetizers and chocolate zucchini cake (with additional coffee flavoring, oh my!) and we gathered in my room to talk, share stories and congregate once more before our respective travels. Here are some photos, just for dramatic - and mouth-watering - effect:Looks delicious, no? It was... especially the last slice I had this morning for breakfast, along with espresso and soy milk. I loaded up on carrots, water and kohlrabi to combat to the terribly unhealthy nature of it all, but I fear the gluttony cannot be so easily undone.

My mood as of late has been that of extreme elation. Reasonable, peaceful, elation, that is. Since finishing my term paper, the full title of which ended up being:

Was charakterisiert menschliches Denken?
Eine Analyse durch die Anwendung unterschiedlicher Perspektiven betreffs Kognition

...I have been supremely calm and more confident than I was in the past few months. The beautiful weather on Saturday and my adventures in the Munich Zoo with my friend Carin, as well as tea and ambling through the city with Ivanna heightened my joy. I have had so much time to read, relax and just exist. This is a perfect transition into my twenty-first year, it seems. I have before never had the opportunity to do nothing but that which makes me happy on my birthday, as my entire life (since age three or four, I suppose) I have been in school during this time. Oh, what freedom!

In this rediscovery of personal choice and such, I have started reading in Enlgish - as opposed to German - again. I had forgotten how effortlessly the images form in one's mind, the subtle tricks of language, the puns and the almost imperceptible allusions. Reading in German is very enjoyable and I do catch the jokes and allusions while forming a mental image of the setting, but this process for me cannot be compared to reading in my mother language.

Also adding to my literary joy is the discovery of the Munich Readery, one of the only second-hand English book shops in Munich and the largest in Germany. The area where it is located is also pretty cool, and I deem further exploration of it a worthy expedition. What a Lewis & Clark inspired sentence...

So, in the spirit of Nick Hornby, I have compiled books read/purchased lists:

Books Read:

The Secret History - Donna Tart
Blankets - Craig Thompson (raved about in a previous entry)
Laughter in the Dark - Vladimir Nabokov

Books Purchased:

Laughter in the Dark - Vladimir Nabokov (redundant, I realize)
Franny and Zooey - J.D. Salinger
The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
The Book of Other People - anothology, ed. Zadie Smith
The Insomniac Reader - anothology, ed. Kevin Sampsell

Another stress-relief is the fact that both my Spanish course payment and room deposit for Barcelona are secured. Phew. I am full of positive expectations mixed with desire for spontaneity for this coming month. We shall see, we shall see. It will be glorious to see the ocean once again.

Further trips in the process of being planned are: April 13th-16th in Venice, July 26th-August 2nd Munich-Copenhagen-Stockholm-Munich. I talked a lot about this with my sister-in-law, Suzanne, and we came to the conclusion that while I live in Europe it is a great idea to take advantage of all travel opportunities, especially because of the lower prices and the increased amount of freedom that exist right now.

I have been dreaming very deeply and vividly again, which means that I am no longer under stress. Also, I have been painting recently, which was greatly lacking before. This is all so incredibly positive, and I realize how lucky I am for it.