Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Tell 'em what they want, Dan



Fun fact: The Elements is the song I used for my musical interlude during my in-class demonstration of how to make peanut brittle, in Mrs. Beuhler's AP Chem class.

Also, just in time for finals, here's a stressful Harry Potter game for you (all)
http://www.sporcle.com/games/GeoGod/allharrypotter

Karen

Sunday, November 28, 2010


Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday too, of the American holidays. It's the only day of the year that my parents ever closed the restaurant, and in general, I just like Thursdays. My parents would spend the day making elaborate seafood dishes with elaborate sauces, full of anise, scallions, ginger, and black beans, and Cyndy and I would make ourselves feel busy playing with dough and making imaginary food, or otherwise watching a lot of tv and eating candy from Chinatown.
Thanksgiving is also very near the time that my dad passed away, and though perhaps it should feel the opposite, this time of year, is very romantic for me. It's full of loss, but also memories, and every year I watch the particularly heart-wrenching episode of Hey Arnold where Mr. Hyunh is reunited with his long-lost daughter, and I cry, and then I make myself another plate of food. It's very therapeutic, and this is coming from someone who hates to cry. Someone once told me that they imagined I cry by shooting flames of fury from my eyes, and I'm rather pleased with this imagery. I like to pretend that's how the world thinks of me.



Karen


This is the first time she's ever done this. I thought you might enjoy seeing it.
Also, this is our official YouTube page!



Karen
Since I last updated:

It's been a beautiful day in the neighborhood

Thanksgiving! My favorite holiday!

My grandfather's memorial service was held, was lovely, and was really upsetting.

And I was taught how to make authentic and amazingly delicate strudel by one of my grandfather's old post-doctoral interns who flew in from Portland, OR just for the service (what's the right word? Student? Intern? Underling? Guy?).
And I have a crush on said guy. Hello German accent, blunt honesty, and ability to bake amazing treats for me while I stare with mouth agape. How attracted I am to you and how familiar you are...

I was surprised by how many of my grandfather's colleagues traveled from very far just to be present at the casual service. It made me feel very proud, very impressed by his accomplishments, and very hopeful that someday I might have so much of an influence that my colleagues will travel from far and wide in order to just give their final appreciation as they all did.

I don't want to talk about the service, but a few walkaway points:
1. my grandfather was really into physics, more than I had ever known (and has been author/coauthor for 30+ peer-reviewed papers)
2. he was also really into environmental activism more than I had ever known (and spokespeople from town councils and environmental groups were present and actually spoke up during the memory sharing time)
3. the man who fancies calling himself my "boyfriend" is self-absorbed and it is a good thing I never agreed to monogamy. During the service he pulled me to a corner, sat me down, and chided me and tried to guilt and upset me over not inviting him to every social event I had been involved in over the past week and for not texting and calling him more often over the past 2 days when I had been cooking for thanksgiving and organizing for the service nonstop. He was turning everything into himself, turning all of these created problems into my problems because they were my fault.
I had already been crying from the service's festivities, though, so perhaps he was just being cleverly opportunistic (as making me cry harder is not as bad as making me start to cry). I was crying out of anger and shock over his lack of respect for me, my grandfather, and the occasion, though- not because I was concerned that our relationship was rocky. That's something that always bugs me- my lack of true concern for the state of aspects of my life when I'm in the process of letting them rot.
But the whole situation is okay now. Because I am rubber and he is glue and I am insensitive and too relaxed and he is driving himself crazy, not me.
4. Not viewing the body is the way to go, and so is story-sharing time. They make for a celebration rather than a situation where everyone feels like they're dying inside.

Anyway, me and once-upon-a-time-post-doc (who is now a fancy schmancy professor at a good university in Oregon) have swapped emails and I think it is only a matter of time before we'll be swappin' the juices.

I'm almost ashamed to sign this one, but here you go.

-Camille

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Oooh yeah, cubiclin' bitch ova hea.
Answerin' phone calls from France, speakin' french and shit.
Givin' my artistic opinion on web page layouts.
Exchangin' sultry glances with the profs.
Sendin' out facsimiles like it's NOBODY'S BU$INESS.
Everybody be learnin' my name.Chea.

-Camille

Monday, November 22, 2010

Bio test


warning: We are not profound today


2:47 am, anxiously awaiting thanksgiving and nothing else, least of all my very large and life obstructing biology exam in the morning. Attempts to study have so far yielded minimal success. Turnip is impatient, wants to go to bed, wondering why I am littering on the bed with all this not-bedtime paraphernalia, and keeps trying to climb on top of my hand when I turn the page. The cuter she is, the less I study, and she knows it.

I've spent much of this week watching Daria, and by much, I mean all my waking hours and generally seeping into my sleeping hours because I fall asleep mid episode and then am woken by the credits rolling, and then reluctantly shut my laptop off. I am a technology-dependent little podcast pop culture pod person. I made a video detailing most of this for you last night, during study session part I, but then I decided my face looked fat and therefore I cannot put it on the internet. So now I'm just talking about my vanity. I have it. Your weekly Turnip says hello!


-Karen

Sunday, November 21, 2010

A year ago I was obsessed with this song.


It was at a time when I started discovering a home--my first true home--being created between myself and the man I loved.
And I've spent this entire year trying to get over the abrupt dissolving of that home and that love.

And I am so very grateful that I experienced that love, that comfort, that excitement, and that beautiful energy that every step in our lives should be filled with (but isn't necessarily).
And even though I want to heal more than anything else and want to heal completely and fast and feel whole again,

I am so happy that I know what love is and that I know what a "home" could feel like (at least in its beginnings)

because now I know what is not love and I know what is not comfort and I know what is not that kinetic, glowing, attractive, and effervescent energy

and I know that you can't fake or wish or force those things into existence.

And even though I often pretend I don't know that truth
and I pretend that I can force these things
or that these things can be forced by others
or, most of all and most shamefully of all, I pretend that I am not important or good or intelligent or kind or beautiful enough to deserve these feelings again

I do know the truth.

Everything might not work out in the end. But faking it until you make it isn't always the way to go.
And I need to stop being a coward, stop wasting time, stop breaking hearts, and stop having my heart bruised by my own inaction.
We're all going to die
and I will certainly die even sooner if I continue to be too afraid to make and break the bonds that would allow me to live again.


My grandfather's memorial service is on Friday.
and yesterday I made some notably delicious coconut rice pudding.

-Camille

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

This morning was not a good morning. I took a physics test which I was certainly ill-prepared for (lack of preparation + the subject I have never managed to figure out = recipe for ? ) and I CRASHED and BURNED. It actually surprised me how badly it went. I had a stomach ache, I was full of dread, and I was really stressing afterward. I need a C or higher to have this class count towards my major (or else I need to take it again) and I really needed a good grade on this test in order to pull up my average.
I was making myself feel physically ill thinking about it, so I decided to stop thinking about it. As soon as I came home from work I made myself a nice meal, I am now sitting barefoot and bare-legged on my bed (my default comfy pose), and I am going to take a nap after I finish this. I have lots more work to do tonight, but right now I am just going to live in the present and try not to think about the stresses that I just endured or the stresses that lie ahead.

You give me really good advice, Karen. The thing I kept reciting over and over in my head while I was trying to calm down was what you told me after I had experienced a really lackluster and confusing first date with someone I had really, really, really wanted to start a relationship with.

"Stop thinking about it. Turn the page."

So I did.


P.S. If Bill Nye the Science Guy only taught physics, we wouldn't have this problem.

-Camille

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

I know something about procrastination. I've been stalkerishly trolling the web for information on Kate Middleton all day.


This is a real thing. Who wants to buy it for me? Awesome.




Karen

Monday, November 15, 2010

The past 3 days have shown me just how good I am at procrastinating, just how out of whack my priorities are, and just how little I seem to give a damn about physics.

Um, might I just ask: How good did Farmer Hoggett look in that last post? Goooood. Another chreemeh man fa yew!
You know I am not joking. That movie with Judy Dench and Cate Blanchett, where Cate sleeps with her 13 year old student (we saw it together!!) made me so very angry. If Bill Nighy is your husband, why why why why why why why would you ever cheat on him, especially just for purely physical relations? DREAMBOAT STATUS HUSBAND, HELLO. You don't stray from that, no matter how many 13 year olds are a-courtin' you.

Hmm. I am obviously not going to find my focus here.
On Thursday my boyfriend from the summer is sleeping over and, assuming we don't get to brawling, he's staying Friday, too. I don't know that we're going to do as rabbits do, though, because I really really hate having sex on my own bed. I'll sweep the floor and I'll make sure my desk's top is cleared, but I do not do not want my bed to be harmed.
It's always been hugely unappealing to me, the idea of having sex in the place where I am going to sleep. I like my bed to be my sanctuary, where I can dream lovely dreams and feel comfortable in my own, private space. Where I can engage fully in emotionally painful rumination, or where I can indulge in completely blissful fantasies. I like having sex in bed, I do, just not my own bed.

Look at this amazing bed, Float, by David Trubridge for Okooko. Do I like it for the frame, or do I just like the background? I can't really decide... but I know that I find it simply breathtaking.

In sex, people get sweaty, my hair ends up everywhere, sheets get damp and when they dry they never feel or smell exactly the same. Laundry becomes a pressing issue in my mind and, truthfully, I can only think of a select few individuals with whom sex is worth cleaning the sheets twice. While I've lived in Manhattan, I've only done it at my place a handful of times, only doing it on my own bed THRICE (well, three evening/morning combinations). In the house I grew up in, I have only had sex in my bed once and that was only because I knew I'd be stripping the bed anyway (I was moving back to the city) and the occasion really did call for it. If I am your girlfriend, we will be having sex and lots of it wherever the fuck you or I want. Except for my bed. Call me unconventional (or, more appropriately, call me a bad hostess, don't give a shit) but I think I'm just keeping it real. True Life: Most people are not worth changing the sheets for.

P.S. Sorry for the surly and/or overly-slutty and/or tipsy postings as of late. I will remedy this later on in the week with some lovely and inspiring photographs from my recent lab in Sterling Forest.

-Camille

Saturday, November 13, 2010

You are so sweet! Dissected pigs are really, truly, madly, deeply some of the things I'd least want to see.

Lest we forget my love for Babe, Farmer Hoggett, the Babe soundtrack, and adorable piglets.

I've gotten into this naughty habit of being a true-to-form college student and drinking and partying every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and having tummy aches every day. I am not going to lie- I understand the appeal. Despite the loveliness of always being in a good mood, usually being in interesting company, always feeling handsy and warm and amorous, and very rarely being annoyed by anyone else (I usually fill any social event's annoying-quota all by myself! Did you know that I am talkative and loud?), I think come November 29th I'm going to go on the cleanse again, which essentially precludes all fun substances, and which will do wonders for my system (again).

I am a little happily buzzed right now.

I wish I had a sugar-daddy to buy me all the expensive vibrators and hiking boots I've been wasting hours (and weeks and years, if we're keeping it real here) of my life drooling over as of late. That is what I truly desire.

G-Ki by Je Joue

I want this. I just bought a new $100 clitoral vibrator for $54 (STEAL, RITE?), but I want this more! And I want this, too.

Jimmyjane Form 2

When I go to gallery openings, I always think to myself that it's very conceivable that some older man would want to have me as his little pet. But then it gets to real life and I realize... that should not happen (and I am not the type of woman/person who enjoys accepting gifts from others- it makes me feel extremely awkward). ENOUGH of that.

I find it disturbingly pathetic that so many people (largely men) have to resort to craigslist in order to have simple, vanilla sex. I mean, I can understand why you would use the site if you had a rare and specific sort of kink that you want a fully game and enthusiastic partner for (hence the need for advertising). But for simple in and out, hands and mouths and peepers... I don't know. Maybe I am biased as a woman (where it seems like it's easier for us to find situations where we can have simple sexual encounters), but still. It doesn't seem that hard here in real life.
Man oh man, delete this if you wish, Karen. I won't be offended.



-Camille

In honor of my fallen blackberry, here is a montage of some of our memories together













I left out some of the most interesting pictures- from my fetal pig dissection lab- just for you.

Karen
I have many pictures from yesterday's lab trip to Sterling Forest. At the moment, however, the only thing I can focus on (or have been able to focus on since I woke up this morning) is being naked on my bed, eating oranges, listening to dubstep, and wishing it were nighttime already.

Massive Attack's video for Paradise Circus is one of my very favorite things. I sent it to you way back in the spring- do you remember? Well, my fondness of it runs deeeep, so imagine my delight when I stumbled upon this:

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Camille says hi back!

And can I just say that I am so, so happy to be doing the thesis work that I am doing? Stacks and stacks of papers to read, presentations to make up and deliver, research plans to be confirmed ten times over, grants to apply for, travel to arrange, and drafts and drafts and drafts to write and edit to no end... but I am still happy. I love my topic and find it endlessly fascinating. When I take breaks from reading, they're not because my brain has turned into a rotting, soupy blob, but instead because I need to just pause and try to mentally organize and compartmentalize all of the cool shit I just encountered.

I love these mushrooms, I love their hosts, and I love that the problem I am studying seems to be of concern in the areas of the world I've always most longed to visit. I don't know how I will feel a few months from now, but at the moment it feels like the absolute most perfect fit for me.

Amanita muscaria

EDIT: Also, please check out this guy's illustrations.

-Camille

Monday, November 8, 2010

Hello from Turnip and Karen!

Hello again :)
Summon the Wine (Figs and Cheese) - Grand Prize Winner

Is this not one of the loveliest things you've ever seen? Simple and surprising, like how 'cellar door' is thought to be one of the most beautiful phrases in the English language. And oh yeah, winter. I woke up to my windows being pelted with what I thought was heavy rain, only to go outside to a mostly dry pavement, and cold, sharp hail deftly pelting me on the head. When I was growing up in China, there was no snow. When I came here, snow meant overly anxious parents making me wear long johns and endless homemade, well-meaning but largely embarrassing knitwear. I like the idea of snow. I like to look at it, to watch it fall. I like it in Christmas movies with Diane Keaton, and I love the idea of being snuggled up in a cozy cabin while the snow falls unbridled outside. But I do not like to spend time in snow, make snow angels, or see the brown slush that immediately ruins the snow, which then lingers around too long like the horrendous eyesore that it is.

-Karen
I got to work on time this morning (rarely ever happens), had a blast, went to job #2 , had a more subdued blast, got home, cooked cabbage and a sweet potato and some chickpeas, had a heart to heart, and then looked outside at 5:30.
What the hell is this?
Oh yeah. Winter.

Happy unofficial winter, Kare Bare!!!



-Camille

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Yesterday afternoon I met my friend Bob for lunch and a show.

Walking to the restaurant, I had to get off the train at Times Square and walking through the throngs of people I was getting SO ANGRY. I have never had such a bad "angry New Yorker" frustrated stride and it was getting me scared just how agitated I was getting by the neverending sea of slow-moving, slow-reacting people. I always feel quite unsafe there, too. It boggles my mind how parents who have never been to NYC think it is a good idea to take their children there. Not only are the chances of your kid getting trampled/kidnapped/LOST uncomfortably high, but it is also NOT FUN and I just feel like you're guaranteed to get something stolen off you. If you want to see fun lights and listen to loud honking and shouting... I would listen to Fun House and look through a kaleidoscope or turn on a disco ball. That actually sounds fun.
I used to listen to Fun House regularly and religiously, and LOUDLY. I am getting old. The idea of doing that alone, without any social lubricants or partners in crime seems sort of painful now...

I got to the restaurant (our usual place- I am so tickled that I have a "usual" spot with a friend where we have our monthly/bi-monthly lunch dates) and all my frustration dissipated with the help of a DELICIOUS lunch and beautiful company.
Then we went to see the Language Archive at the Harold and Miriam Steinberg Center for Theatre and I really, really enjoyed it.
I usually hate theater, but I liked this. And that's not me being a tough critic, or me giving this shit high praise. It was good, and very good considering that the idea of going to a play usually makes me want to die. In fact, until I sat down in the theater and saw the amazing set (which was inspiring in itself), part of me was already preparing to die.
But it was romantic and troubling and many times throughout the performance I found myself teary, just thinking of my own past love troubles, and I had to scream to myself "Camille, you think about yourself 24/7. How often are you given a chance to easily and freely explore the beauty and pain in others' lives (even if pretended, even if for just a short time)?"
So I shut my mind off and let go and really appreciated what was going on. And it was good.

Then we went out for tea and it was freezing and the 123 line is undergoing "major construction" and I experienced "severe delays" in getting back uptown.
But the afternoon was wonderful, I am loved, I love in return, and humanity is beautiful.
And I went back to my friend Nina's brownstone, we made salad and stir-fry, and had a good quiet evening.

So, overall, good weekend.

-Camille
Watch this



Sometimes I like people.
-Karen

Friday, November 5, 2010

Look at this.
http://www.yinkashonibarembe.com/sculpture.html

Modeled after the painting. Just think, if more art like this--depicting such beautiful, dreamy, and fantastical imagery, and bridging what exists purely in our imaginations with what we encounter every day--existed in public spaces (or comprised the majority of public places), what a wonderful world we would live in. Where creativity and beauty would be flowing abundantly throughout the very air we'd breathe... I wonder what it would lead to.

It just blew my mind for a minute there, that's all.

-Camille

Thursday, November 4, 2010

That's me in the groovy sweater

I've always said that I was at my best when I was eight years old. I was in fourth grade, the same age as Arthur Read, and Arnold of the eponymous Nickelodeon cartoon. It was the best of both anthropomorphic and cartoon worlds, not to mention Sailor Moon was still on t.v. I was bright, interested in school, loved to read, and I could spend hours in the backyard on the swings, daydreaming endlessly. School was exciting because my academic rivalry with the other smart kid in my class was absolutely thrilling, and when we worked together, we would dominate. I read so many books that my parents tried to intervene, and I was best friends with Jamie, the coolest girl in the world.
I would bring home five books from a series at a time, and thus devoured The Baby Sitter's Club, Sweet Valley Twins, and The Boxcar Children, and longed to be a big girl babysitter, a twin, and a self-assured orphan who took care of herself and a small pet, sleeping at night in a network of cozy treehouses which I fantasized would appear when I most needed them. The above copy of Racing Hearts isn't from my childhood, but from two Christmases ago, a gift from a friend who truly knows my heart, and my childish brain. I have to confess that I skipped picture books altogether, because as soon as I mastered English and learned to read, it was time for chapter books. Books didn't have real pictures until I started reading Greek mythology. You and I had very different childhoods even though we lived minutes apart, and I love that. We forged our own sassy little girl paths, meeting some time later in the middle. We're both fiery, with dark, dark hair, and dark disapproving gazes, and we're dark and twisty on the inside
We're best friends.
I took a personality test on Wednesday in one of my psychology classes, from which I learned that I'm a "thinker" and that I am "almost always more intense than I am calm." I enjoy writing that because I love having the chance to own that bit of information, which I think is true, but you very astutely qualified that for me

-Karen


Oh no.
I just realized, I am not done being a child. I am not ready to be the one who tells bedtime stories and can instill creativity in others and who can identify all the birds on a spring stroll and who is ready to have all the attention, the affection, and the patience not constantly given to her.

I am not done being a child. But I am too old to go back. I haven't learned all about familial love and appreciation and nature and imagination and toadstools and cloud-shapes that I need in order to feel happy to progress onto the next stage.

This is not a happy minute over here.

I spent all of my life from ages 6-16 being serious, being studious, being shallow, and being quiet. Quiet brooding thoughts immediately stomped out the fires of any curiosity that may have arisen. I want that time back but, since I can't ever get it back, I need to carve out this time now. Sooner than later, sooner because the house that I am building, the future that I am building, is resting upon a hollow, temporary, weak foundation.

This story is what inspired this line of thought: Allegra Goodman: La Vita Nuova
At the end, where she mentioned "dragons teeth", I suddenly realized that I do not want to do that, because I know I am incapable of doing that. I can't be creative enough to instill such creative thinking in others. My turn to be the little, gullible, and endlessly imaginative child is over.
I need more Lane Smith and John Bauer illustrated dreams. I need more walks in the woods with my grandmother where she was teaching me, not us teaching each other. I need to do more listening and more platonic loving. Most of all, I need for it to be acknowledged that I do not know enough and I am not mature enough to have sex, cook for myself, or live alone. I am not.
I am an animal and I haven't yet received the tools I need in order to thrive: our society makes it easy for many people to fool themselves into they're believing they are at this point already, but I am not falling for it!

Do you ever get this way? It is the first time I've ever thought about it. I guess I am not very big on reflection.

-Camille

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

That old boyfriend who has the most handsome parents we've ever drunkenly gazed upon emailed me this morning while I was at work, sitting in during an interview of one of the history professors.
I had been the history department's representative during the whole setup of cameras/lights in this professors office (literally to unlock the door, pretend to be refined or at all in-the-know regarding this professor's affairs, and make sure these people didn't steal or break anything in the office. A little degrading....) and was sitting in during the warm-up conversation before they started filming. I had been on my computer, trying to get some work done while still being a presence in the room, and was checking my email when what did I see but a delightful little email titled "lover" from said old boyfriend. I opened it and attached was a picture this man had taken of his mother, her gazing out the window and looking, I kid you not, like the most fucking gorgeous smiley Lauren Bacall version of herself that I'd ever seen; sans makeup; her hair perfectly worn; and just glowing with youth, vitality, and contentedness (as always). He'd written something like "oooooooh, sexy sexy!" in the message of the email and I immediately started squealing, blushing, laughing, and touching my face with delight. This ruckus was not appreciated by anyone, surprisingly enough :) .

Truly, though, she is so very beautiful! I spent Halloween at their house carving pumpkins, joining them for Sunday dinner, and watching the Mighty Boosh as a family after the meal, and it was absolutely magical.
I was a monarch butterfly for Halloween- and wore the same costume that I wore when I was 7, 14, 15, and 18. Always an insect.

I have never met a couple who I admire and appreciate more (in terms of their kindness, generosity, and unconditional affection towards everyone they encounter) and, even more than this, I have never met a couple so goddamn attractive.
Every time I did something she found sweet she'd touch my arm, holding back from a hug but still letting me know that my presence was welcomed and appreciated. Every touch would give me baby shivers of delight, not from arousal (no, really!), but from the pure electric transfer of her tranquil warmth.
Don't even get me started on her husband, old boyfriend's father. I could write a book about all the ways in which I appreciate him. It's probably really annoying to listen to, actually. I bet old boyfriend is bitterly regretting that first day when he brought me home to meet them...


I had always (tried to love but) absolutely abhorred the Mighty Boosh. Now I just don't care for it. It's not as bad as a thought: endlessly, wonderfully creative; but just too silly for my tastes. I do dig the music and costumes, though.

-Camille

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Today I "walked the old haunts" with my grandmother. It was the first time I had seen her or been in her house since my grandfather died in September. It was beautiful and made me a bit sad that I cannot do this every day. The way she observes things while walking is completely different from how I do. I appreciate light quality, air quality, and other things which directly alter my physical state or the general aura of the environment. She notices the smallest hickory nut on the ground; the rustiness (vs. brightness) of the trees; and every shrub, vine, tree, and herb we came across (and she identified them all); and the smallest, most delicate fungi growing on fallen trees.
We went back to her house after the walk and shared tea, looked through my grandfather's clothing (as I like to wear men's dress shirts as my hiking/painting/lounging shirts over camisoles), and looked through many images that my friend Brian had digitized (as they were originally slides).
She also showed me a picture that I hadn't seen before of me and my grandfather. I really love it (but vainly wish I had been more photogenic, so as to make the picture more... perfect).My grandmother is an amazing woman. I hope I won't ever forget the things she has said to me throughout my life- in passing remarks, commentary on various topics and people, and the bigger life lessons.
She has never once told me what to do--she believes everyone should find out and do, always, what is best for themselves--but I find that everything I do is based on what she has told me.

-Camille