My roommates and I receive a fantastic amount of junk mail. For every piece of legit mail we get, there are also 10 pieces of crap mail. We can't get rid of the stuff fast enough; there are boxes of it piled in our living room. The couple who lived in our apartment before us, Dennis and Olga, must have bought all their stuff through catalogs, and let me tell you, they had some weird taste. Need hunting supplies? Books from the University of Pittsburgh Press? A vast array of scented candles? I have probably have a magazine for you!
According to this article, mailpeople are even more sick of junk mail than I am. I really don't understand why, though; how is delivering a Scented Living catalog to my apartment any worse than delivering a copy of The New Yorker? I hate junk mail because it's boring and I have to dispose of it, but mailpeople are hoarding this crap! Perhaps it's not junk mail in particular that's the problem, but the never ending stream of mail itself. A truly Sisyphean task, if ever there was one.
Sometimes legit mail comes for Dennis and Olga too -- large envelopes marked "URGENT" and "CONFIDENTIAL." We never know what to do with this stuff, because we have no idea what happened to Dennis and Olga, and our landlords don't know either. Personally, I think they're dead. Either that, or they're in rehab trying to kick their addition to mail-order shopping. My artsy roommates briefly considered making some kind of installation piece out of all the junk mail we get, but I thought that would be super creepy, and I'm glad they didn't. After all, what if Olga and Dennis really are dead? Having their mail all over my walls would be like one huge creepy consumer séance. Not good for the karmic balance.
I have a history with junk mail for dead people, too. Karen Carpenter, lead singer of The Carpenters, who was sadly famous for dying of anorexia, used to live in the house I grew up in, in Park Slope. We used to get mail for her all the time, and I always thought it was super creepy. Or at least that's what my Mom told me. Now that I think about it, though, Karen Carpenter is probably a very common name, and the house I grew up in really isn't somewhere a moderately famous person would live. Oh my God, did my Mom make that up!? Mean!
Friday, November 21, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
sickness...and resurrection!
I have come down with some kind of mutant super cold, and for the last five days I have been pretty much confined to my couch/bed. If you talked to me on Friday, you would have heard (or not) that I lost my voice. If you talked to me today, I probably interrupted the conversation to sneeze all over you. I did manage to finally make it back to work today, but I was so focused on not falling asleep at my computer that I got nothing done.
The resurrection I refer to in the title of the post has nothing to do with the state of my sinuses, however. It is my apartment blog from college that has been reborn! We have a new format, but the same (witty and intelligent) contributors. Kappa Alpha Sigma (Nu) lives on.
The resurrection I refer to in the title of the post has nothing to do with the state of my sinuses, however. It is my apartment blog from college that has been reborn! We have a new format, but the same (witty and intelligent) contributors. Kappa Alpha Sigma (Nu) lives on.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
conversations with newt.
Confession: I have this weird thing for Newt Gingrich.
A couple of months ago, I saw him on George Stephanopoulos, and he was surprisingly interesting and cuddly. Since then, against all of my better judgment, I've started to like him. First of all, his name is Newt, which is objectively awesome, but did you know he also has a PhD in history, and that he writes geeky historical fiction (none of which I have read, because it looks horrible)? I know, he isn't perfect: he was instrumental in get Bill Clinton impeached, and he was generally crappy at being Speaker of the House, and he's a Republican, but none of this seems to have stopped me from liking him.
And if we had lunch today, my buddy Newt and I would definitely have talked about his attempt to destroy adolescence. Here is how I imagine our conversation would go:
Me: "WTF, Newt? I like your ideas about responsibility and achievement, but this is not the 18th Century, and none of us are John Quincy Adams."
Newty G: "Julia, you have clearly been coddled all your life. Your parents should have shipped you to Rwanda to work as a peace keeper when you were 13. You have no idea what responsibility means."
Me: "You know, Mr. Newt, there is this great show on MTV these days called Exiled. You should watch it. The whole premise is that they send spoiled children (previously featured on another superb MTV show, My Super Sweet Sixteen) to go live in "horrible" places, like Panama or Africa, where they live with tribes and stuff. The kids cry and whine, but in the end they are transformed! Do you think all 13 year olds should be shipped to Burma?
Newty G: "Actually, I think MTV should be terminated. It is just another example of the pernicious influence of the culture of adolescence. I mean, have you seen The Real World recently? In fact, I think high schoolers should be paid minimum wage not to watch TV."
Me: "But wouldn't that just lead to a culture of bribery? Do you really believe that payment can induce someone to become responsible? And is it civically healthy to equate responsibility with monetary gain? Wouldn't that be like paying people to vote, or rewarding them for not committing a crime? Also: do we really have to 'end adolescence' in order to be good at science? Oh, and one more question: you refer to adolescence as a failed 'social experiment' and indicate that we should 'move on.' It seems to me that you think someone is running this 'experiment,' and that they can simply shut it off. If so, who exactly is in charge?"
Newty G: "You voted for Obama, didn't you?"
A couple of months ago, I saw him on George Stephanopoulos, and he was surprisingly interesting and cuddly. Since then, against all of my better judgment, I've started to like him. First of all, his name is Newt, which is objectively awesome, but did you know he also has a PhD in history, and that he writes geeky historical fiction (none of which I have read, because it looks horrible)? I know, he isn't perfect: he was instrumental in get Bill Clinton impeached, and he was generally crappy at being Speaker of the House, and he's a Republican, but none of this seems to have stopped me from liking him.
And if we had lunch today, my buddy Newt and I would definitely have talked about his attempt to destroy adolescence. Here is how I imagine our conversation would go:
Me: "WTF, Newt? I like your ideas about responsibility and achievement, but this is not the 18th Century, and none of us are John Quincy Adams."
Newty G: "Julia, you have clearly been coddled all your life. Your parents should have shipped you to Rwanda to work as a peace keeper when you were 13. You have no idea what responsibility means."
Me: "You know, Mr. Newt, there is this great show on MTV these days called Exiled. You should watch it. The whole premise is that they send spoiled children (previously featured on another superb MTV show, My Super Sweet Sixteen) to go live in "horrible" places, like Panama or Africa, where they live with tribes and stuff. The kids cry and whine, but in the end they are transformed! Do you think all 13 year olds should be shipped to Burma?
Newty G: "Actually, I think MTV should be terminated. It is just another example of the pernicious influence of the culture of adolescence. I mean, have you seen The Real World recently? In fact, I think high schoolers should be paid minimum wage not to watch TV."
Me: "But wouldn't that just lead to a culture of bribery? Do you really believe that payment can induce someone to become responsible? And is it civically healthy to equate responsibility with monetary gain? Wouldn't that be like paying people to vote, or rewarding them for not committing a crime? Also: do we really have to 'end adolescence' in order to be good at science? Oh, and one more question: you refer to adolescence as a failed 'social experiment' and indicate that we should 'move on.' It seems to me that you think someone is running this 'experiment,' and that they can simply shut it off. If so, who exactly is in charge?"
Newty G: "You voted for Obama, didn't you?"
Friday, November 7, 2008
pass me a koekje, will you?
I'm pretty sure I meant to commemorate the one year anniversary of this blog, and say something about the fact that while I swore to everyone (mostly Rita) that I would never, ever, ever, EVER be a blogger, I can conclude now that it really isn't so bad, actually. I think I planned to disavow some of my stupider posts and chuckle fondly at the clever ones, but since I should have done all this about a month ago, the idea seems a bit stale now. It was also kind of a bad idea to begin with.
So, anyway, let's focus on an anniversary I haven't missed: the one year anniversary of the beginning of my American History Self-Improvement Project. Like my blogging, I haven't been as consistent or intelligent about this as I wanted to be, but it's turned out OK in the end. In fact, I think I've learned more about pre-twentieth century American history in the past year than I have in all my previous years of schooling combined. As Will Hunting said to that asshold at Harvard, "you dropped a 150 grand on a fuckin' education you could have gotten for a dollar fifty in late charges at the public library." My experience this year suggests that he was kind of right; I love the Brooklyn Public Library, and I have spent only 50 cents on late charges.
Am I ready to write my dissertation on Lincoln, or the Federalist Papers, or the founding of New Amsterdam? Not exactly. But do I now know the etymology of the word cookie and can I tell you whether Obama was the first President from Illinois since Lincoln? Yes, indeed I can: cookie comes from the dutch word koekje, meaning cake, and Grant, who lived for a while in Galena, was kind of from Illinois. (So was Reagan, but I don't think he counts.) Totally useless information? Yes. But not everything I've absorbed is quite as useless.
At the moment, I'm reading The Metaphysical Club by Louis Menand. It's really excellent, so much so that I'm actually thinking about reading William James. Also, it turns out that Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. and William James "had a date to get together every Saturday evening at 8:30 to discuss philosophy." This was in 1866; James was 24, and Holmes was 25. It's really good to know that I am not quite the biggest dork ever.
So, anyway, let's focus on an anniversary I haven't missed: the one year anniversary of the beginning of my American History Self-Improvement Project. Like my blogging, I haven't been as consistent or intelligent about this as I wanted to be, but it's turned out OK in the end. In fact, I think I've learned more about pre-twentieth century American history in the past year than I have in all my previous years of schooling combined. As Will Hunting said to that asshold at Harvard, "you dropped a 150 grand on a fuckin' education you could have gotten for a dollar fifty in late charges at the public library." My experience this year suggests that he was kind of right; I love the Brooklyn Public Library, and I have spent only 50 cents on late charges.
Am I ready to write my dissertation on Lincoln, or the Federalist Papers, or the founding of New Amsterdam? Not exactly. But do I now know the etymology of the word cookie and can I tell you whether Obama was the first President from Illinois since Lincoln? Yes, indeed I can: cookie comes from the dutch word koekje, meaning cake, and Grant, who lived for a while in Galena, was kind of from Illinois. (So was Reagan, but I don't think he counts.) Totally useless information? Yes. But not everything I've absorbed is quite as useless.
At the moment, I'm reading The Metaphysical Club by Louis Menand. It's really excellent, so much so that I'm actually thinking about reading William James. Also, it turns out that Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. and William James "had a date to get together every Saturday evening at 8:30 to discuss philosophy." This was in 1866; James was 24, and Holmes was 25. It's really good to know that I am not quite the biggest dork ever.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
warning: political goo.
I woke up at 6:30 this morning, and waited in line for an hour and a half to vote. I groused and whined (as you can imagine), and thought back to 2004, when I just rolled out of bed at 8:30 and voted in the lobby of the Shoreland. Ah, the halcyon days of my youth.
Or perhaps they weren't quite so halcyon -- George Bush was re-elected that year, after all.
Election day kind of turns me gooey inside, to be honest. In general, I am not hopeful when it comes to politics; certainly, I think evaluating politicians based on the sincerity of their commitment to elusive qualities like "change" is both foolish and naive. Politics is, at its very best, a game of persuasion, and anyone expecting transcendence or heartfelt sincerity is going to be disappointed. Voting itself does require a certain amount of faith, though, both in the candidates you are helping to elect, and in the fairness of the voting process itself. If we could get rid of the electoral college, I would be happier, but nonetheless, it is wonderful to live in a democratic republic, especially on election day.
And so, in the spirit of political gooey-ness, I must say that, regardless of the outcome of this election, I am sincerely hoping for an improvement. Change, which both candidates have been so incessantly touting, can go either way. Today I'm hoping for something better than change.
And tomorrow, I look forward to reverting back to my usual cynicism.
Or perhaps they weren't quite so halcyon -- George Bush was re-elected that year, after all.
Election day kind of turns me gooey inside, to be honest. In general, I am not hopeful when it comes to politics; certainly, I think evaluating politicians based on the sincerity of their commitment to elusive qualities like "change" is both foolish and naive. Politics is, at its very best, a game of persuasion, and anyone expecting transcendence or heartfelt sincerity is going to be disappointed. Voting itself does require a certain amount of faith, though, both in the candidates you are helping to elect, and in the fairness of the voting process itself. If we could get rid of the electoral college, I would be happier, but nonetheless, it is wonderful to live in a democratic republic, especially on election day.
And so, in the spirit of political gooey-ness, I must say that, regardless of the outcome of this election, I am sincerely hoping for an improvement. Change, which both candidates have been so incessantly touting, can go either way. Today I'm hoping for something better than change.
And tomorrow, I look forward to reverting back to my usual cynicism.
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