I've found only 3 things help in studying for comprehensive exams, 2 of which were tips from friends, and one of which I discovered myself:
1) A friend who finished her ph.d. this year said to clear out your schedule, because it makes you calm to have that much time devoted to studying, even if the marginal returns on the extra hours studying diminish and you want to start doing other academic stuff.
2) Another friend said to think of Calvin and predestination, and that your fate has already been decided.
3) I found out that singing some lyrics from the Black Eyed Peas's "I Got a Feeling" made me feel happy -
tonight's gonna be a good night/
tonight's gonna be a good good night
- and stress-free, even though the song was only stuck in my head, and I didn't start humming it as a means to relieve stress.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
More soup.
I made more soup the other weekend.
This time I put some olive oil on the bottom of the pot, sliced up 2 habanero peppers and an entire Spanish onion and sauteed them, and then peeled like 18 carrots into the pot till it was full of long ribbons (I saved the parts I couldn't peel to chop up and eat raw). I dumped some water on it and let the ribbons boil down (they broke up as they boiled down), and then I chopped a couple tomatoes into it to add to the brothe.
Later, like after an hour, I shaved the kernels from 6 cobs of corn into the soup and let it boil longer, and added some coriander, salt, pepper, and a little paprika and chili powder, and I cut up a bunch of celery and let it sit in a colander in my sink to drain.
When the soup was done, I shut off the heat, dumped the celery in, and then put the pot out on the window sill... That was so the celery would get cooked from the residual heat in the pot, but not get too cooked and lose its crunch.
I gave some of the soup to 2 friends - my one British friend, who's a vegan; and my one (white) friend from Michigan who frequents the black neighborhood bar, and tries to reduce her meat intake. They both liked it... I find the cooking very relaxing and the giving away very pleasant.
This time I put some olive oil on the bottom of the pot, sliced up 2 habanero peppers and an entire Spanish onion and sauteed them, and then peeled like 18 carrots into the pot till it was full of long ribbons (I saved the parts I couldn't peel to chop up and eat raw). I dumped some water on it and let the ribbons boil down (they broke up as they boiled down), and then I chopped a couple tomatoes into it to add to the brothe.
Later, like after an hour, I shaved the kernels from 6 cobs of corn into the soup and let it boil longer, and added some coriander, salt, pepper, and a little paprika and chili powder, and I cut up a bunch of celery and let it sit in a colander in my sink to drain.
When the soup was done, I shut off the heat, dumped the celery in, and then put the pot out on the window sill... That was so the celery would get cooked from the residual heat in the pot, but not get too cooked and lose its crunch.
I gave some of the soup to 2 friends - my one British friend, who's a vegan; and my one (white) friend from Michigan who frequents the black neighborhood bar, and tries to reduce her meat intake. They both liked it... I find the cooking very relaxing and the giving away very pleasant.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
A Dream of Patrice.
I forgot that I had this dream weeks ago --
I dreamt that I was on the street where the gyros lounge is, and it was the early- to mid-70s. Much looked the same, but there was a lot of graffiti on the street, like the downtown was suffering from urban blight.
Anyhow, I look at the gyros lounge, and it looks rough, and I go in, and there's a young version of Patrice standing there wearing a black leather jacket and looking rough, and I know that the place is often frequented by bikers.
...I think I had this dream because I was talking with a friend of a friend ("Frenchie") that same week and she lives in the neighborhood of the gyros lounge and I mentioned I love that bar, but she said she's never been in since it looks 'sketchy', so I somehow dreamed a pre-history for what I think is a very non-sketchy place...
I dreamt that I was on the street where the gyros lounge is, and it was the early- to mid-70s. Much looked the same, but there was a lot of graffiti on the street, like the downtown was suffering from urban blight.
Anyhow, I look at the gyros lounge, and it looks rough, and I go in, and there's a young version of Patrice standing there wearing a black leather jacket and looking rough, and I know that the place is often frequented by bikers.
...I think I had this dream because I was talking with a friend of a friend ("Frenchie") that same week and she lives in the neighborhood of the gyros lounge and I mentioned I love that bar, but she said she's never been in since it looks 'sketchy', so I somehow dreamed a pre-history for what I think is a very non-sketchy place...
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Addendum.
The next night, when I ran into the Catalan guy and his one Spanish friend who studies Don Quixote (they're inveterate barflies), his one Spanish friend was looking tired, and when asked why, he said he had been at a lit conference and given a paper on the interruption in Don Quixote.
"I did not realize that Don Quixote was not finished," the Catalan quickly said, and his friend looked perturbed for a second, and then hit him.
"I did not realize that Don Quixote was not finished," the Catalan quickly said, and his friend looked perturbed for a second, and then hit him.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Pissing off the Irish (II of II): Later responses.
Later, I felt bad about it, and I happened to run into a ton of international people I know, so I asked all of them about their opinions about telling people what you think about their cultures/countries when they ask:
1) My one British friend, whose dad is from the Sudan, and is thus kind of Arab-looking and has an Arab last name, said that he used to do that all the time in France, and when French people would ask him about their country, he would say that it was horribly racist, and talk about what a hard time he had renting a room in Paris, and when he would show up people would tell him that it was just rented, or when he'd call a landlady over the phone and he'd give his name and she'd hear his British accent when speaking French, she'd be like, "Where are you from?", and he would be like, "England," and then she would be like, "No no no, what is your origin?", and he'd never even get to tour the room.
"But if you really listen to what they're asking, that's not what they're asking at all," he was like.
"So what would you say then?", I was like.
"Oh, usually something about how they have a lot of good musuems with some very nice art," he was like.
2) This one Israeli guy I ran into at the student bar was like, "The problem is that you are too honest."
Then, after a second, he was like, "But that doesn't mean you're wrong."
3) This one Catalan I know who is a very nice person told me that we all say things that we regret, and that apologies later almost always work. He said one time he was talking with some Paraguayans he had just met and they said something about his Catalan accent and started poking a little fun at him, and he was like, "Ja ja ja, very funny, why don't you come to eh-Spain and try to find respectable work with your accent, Paraguayan," and that he immediately regretted it, but he apologized a few days later and they're all friends, and they're very cool people.
4) This one Kashmiri biochemist guy who I've met a few times was like, "I am a scientist, and I deal with facts, and what you said about the Irish is a fact."
1) My one British friend, whose dad is from the Sudan, and is thus kind of Arab-looking and has an Arab last name, said that he used to do that all the time in France, and when French people would ask him about their country, he would say that it was horribly racist, and talk about what a hard time he had renting a room in Paris, and when he would show up people would tell him that it was just rented, or when he'd call a landlady over the phone and he'd give his name and she'd hear his British accent when speaking French, she'd be like, "Where are you from?", and he would be like, "England," and then she would be like, "No no no, what is your origin?", and he'd never even get to tour the room.
"But if you really listen to what they're asking, that's not what they're asking at all," he was like.
"So what would you say then?", I was like.
"Oh, usually something about how they have a lot of good musuems with some very nice art," he was like.
2) This one Israeli guy I ran into at the student bar was like, "The problem is that you are too honest."
Then, after a second, he was like, "But that doesn't mean you're wrong."
3) This one Catalan I know who is a very nice person told me that we all say things that we regret, and that apologies later almost always work. He said one time he was talking with some Paraguayans he had just met and they said something about his Catalan accent and started poking a little fun at him, and he was like, "Ja ja ja, very funny, why don't you come to eh-Spain and try to find respectable work with your accent, Paraguayan," and that he immediately regretted it, but he apologized a few days later and they're all friends, and they're very cool people.
4) This one Kashmiri biochemist guy who I've met a few times was like, "I am a scientist, and I deal with facts, and what you said about the Irish is a fact."
Monday, October 26, 2009
Pissing off the Irish (I of II): Initial Incident.
So, the other day at an all-campus event I met a new masters student with a slight accent, and, after talking for a bit, I asked him what it was, and it turned out that he was from Dublin, and from there I was telling him how I used to have Irish roommates, and then, after he cleared that they were Irish-Irish and not Irish-American, he asked me what my perceptions of the Irish were.
"I found the culture patriarchal and fucked-up," I was like, "And they all behaved like children when drunk."
At that, the guy started pressing, and I told him that I thought Anglophone drinking cultures all tended towards binge-drinking and childish behavior, though, if I had to rank them, the Irish were the worst, followed by the English and then Americans.
"And how many Irish people have you met?", he was like.
"I don't know," I was like, "Seven."
"And you've never been there?", he was like.
"No, but I once talked to an Irish feminist activist around our age, and she agreed with me about the specific manifestations of patriarchy," I was like.
"Seven," he was like, and at that he was like, "Nice meeting you," and shook my hand and went off, fuming, before I even noticed what happened, he had drawn such a visceral reaction out of me about Irish culture.
"I found the culture patriarchal and fucked-up," I was like, "And they all behaved like children when drunk."
At that, the guy started pressing, and I told him that I thought Anglophone drinking cultures all tended towards binge-drinking and childish behavior, though, if I had to rank them, the Irish were the worst, followed by the English and then Americans.
"And how many Irish people have you met?", he was like.
"I don't know," I was like, "Seven."
"And you've never been there?", he was like.
"No, but I once talked to an Irish feminist activist around our age, and she agreed with me about the specific manifestations of patriarchy," I was like.
"Seven," he was like, and at that he was like, "Nice meeting you," and shook my hand and went off, fuming, before I even noticed what happened, he had drawn such a visceral reaction out of me about Irish culture.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
2 silverfish anecdotes.
1) I made up a big pot of carrot soup the other weekend, and I put it out on the windowsill to cool down. Later that night, when it was already dark out, I opened up the window to go take it in and put some in a bowl to heat up, and something black scurried out from over by it and took refuge in the cervices around the base of the window-pane - a silverfish.
2) The other morning, I was making coffee, and I went to go turn on the faucet, and by the base I saw something black - and it turned out to be the reflection of my hand covering up the light reflecting off the base of the faucet, though I thought originally it was a silverfish, and it made me jump (but not scream).
2) The other morning, I was making coffee, and I went to go turn on the faucet, and by the base I saw something black - and it turned out to be the reflection of my hand covering up the light reflecting off the base of the faucet, though I thought originally it was a silverfish, and it made me jump (but not scream).
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