I dreamt that I was staying at a bed and breakfast with some friends somewhere in Boston near Fenway Park. The woman who ran the bed and breakfast was young and attractive, but also a vampire. Vampire Lady got a lot of business out of “father and son” night at Fenway Park, because (according to the dream I was in), fathers and sons would make a night of it and just crash at a nearby place, such as Vampire Lady’s bed and breakfast.
Vampire Lady went on a blood-sucking and killing spree that left several people dead in her courtyard. I knew she was the culprit, but it was as though I were in a B-horror movie, and everyone wasn’t supposed to figure that out until the end of the movie. So I didn’t accuse Vampire Lady to her face, or even run to the authorities. I was really scared of her.
At one point, I was standing in the courtyard of Vampire Lady’s bed and breakfast. Vampire Lady was standing outside the closed glass door of the courtyard, flirting with and seducing two men. I could hear her giggling through the door. Suddenly I saw the two men being slammed against the glass door and then collapsing down to the ground as they died, with their blood leaving huge stains on the glass door. It was exactly the sort of scene you’d see in a B horror flick!
In the next scene in the B horror flick, I was at the Harvard Stadium running up and down the steps to exercise. I was alone, and I suddenly wished I’d convinced some friends to come with me. I was in the middle of running up some steps during my second repetition, when I saw Vampire Lady enter the stadium and start running steps herself. No one else was in the stadium aside from her and me.
My heart started beating very quickly as I thought about the possibility of Vampire Lady coming over and sucking my blood. I finished running up the steps, and then ran down again. I pretended I was done with my workout even though I had only done two reps. I tried to gather my belongings as quickly as possible without appearing panicked or scared. For some reason I’d brought every pair of gloves I owned with me to the stadium and had dumped them along with several of my coats in a pile at the stadium. So it was taking a long time for me to gather my stuff. As I was gathering my belongings, a friend of mine whom I know from Taekwondo called me on my cell phone. I didn’t pick up in time and tried calling her back, but then she didn’t pick up either. She left me a voicemail telling me that she figured out what I already knew – that the woman who owned the bed and breakfast was a vampire. Even though I couldn’t connect on the phone with my friend, I pressed the phone to my ear and pretended to be talking to someone, so that Vampire Lady would guess that I was telling people where I was and who else was there.
The dream ended there.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The Yellow Belt Period
In the Taekwondo club of which I'm a part, the yellow belt is one of the first color belts you earn after starting as white belt (complete novice). The yellow belt is a really sweet period to practice Taekwondo, because you're just starting to learn basic techniques, and not much is expected of you (at least in my club). All it takes to impress is a willingness to learn and maybe a little bit of aptitude. Because you're not expected to know that much, but are applauded for what you have learned, being a yellow belt is really fun.
At more advanced stages, everything becomes more complicated and difficult. Much more is expected of you, and you start to expect much more of yourself as well. For example, I've started to become really embarrassed that I'm not better at certain things at my stage. I was much less afraid to make mistakes and embarrass myself when I was a yellow belt.
I realized today that many things in life have a yellow belt period. Recently I decided to spend more time cultivating foreign language skills I started acquiring in grad school and last year. I searched meetup.com for language speaking groups and found a French one, a German one, and an Italian one. All of them claimed to welcome "all levels of speakers," but the only one I put on my calendar was the Italian one.
That's because I'm in my yellow belt period of Italian. My knowledge of Italian is limited to 30 lessons of Pimsleur and four days in Italy (half of which was spent asleep, exhausted from jet lag and work). I know that I don't know much Italian, but I'm not afraid to sit down at a cafe and embarrass myself in front of strangers. I figure that I'll be forgiven because I'm such a novice.
I'm past my yellow belt periods in French and German. And that's precisely why, even though the meetup groups claim to welcome "all levels of speakers," I've self-censored myself as "not good enough" to go chit chat in French or German with strangers. I know that I should know the subjunctive form of certain verbs in French, or how to interject precisely the right phrase to convey the right tone, or what gender all the nouns should take in German. But I've forgotten. So I know that I don't know things I used to know, and furthermore, I know enough French and German to know that I'm not that good. I figure that I won't be forgiven so easily because I should speak more fluently by now.
It makes me sad to remember how brave I was to speak German on my first trip to Germany. I'd had only one semester of German, but I felt undaunted to go off on my own and navigate subway systems in cities I'd never visited. I always began conversations with strangers in German, and don't recall ever switching to English with them.
Now when I contemplate trying to find someone with whom I can practice German, I feel like I have to preface it with "but my German's really rusty." As for my French, it's so far behind that I'm not sure I could really go through with a practice session of any sort, for fear butchering the language in front of a native speaker.
But I know that I won't get better at any language until I go back to being unafraid of making mistakes and embarrassing myself again. In other words, I need to become a yellow belt again.
At more advanced stages, everything becomes more complicated and difficult. Much more is expected of you, and you start to expect much more of yourself as well. For example, I've started to become really embarrassed that I'm not better at certain things at my stage. I was much less afraid to make mistakes and embarrass myself when I was a yellow belt.
I realized today that many things in life have a yellow belt period. Recently I decided to spend more time cultivating foreign language skills I started acquiring in grad school and last year. I searched meetup.com for language speaking groups and found a French one, a German one, and an Italian one. All of them claimed to welcome "all levels of speakers," but the only one I put on my calendar was the Italian one.
That's because I'm in my yellow belt period of Italian. My knowledge of Italian is limited to 30 lessons of Pimsleur and four days in Italy (half of which was spent asleep, exhausted from jet lag and work). I know that I don't know much Italian, but I'm not afraid to sit down at a cafe and embarrass myself in front of strangers. I figure that I'll be forgiven because I'm such a novice.
I'm past my yellow belt periods in French and German. And that's precisely why, even though the meetup groups claim to welcome "all levels of speakers," I've self-censored myself as "not good enough" to go chit chat in French or German with strangers. I know that I should know the subjunctive form of certain verbs in French, or how to interject precisely the right phrase to convey the right tone, or what gender all the nouns should take in German. But I've forgotten. So I know that I don't know things I used to know, and furthermore, I know enough French and German to know that I'm not that good. I figure that I won't be forgiven so easily because I should speak more fluently by now.
It makes me sad to remember how brave I was to speak German on my first trip to Germany. I'd had only one semester of German, but I felt undaunted to go off on my own and navigate subway systems in cities I'd never visited. I always began conversations with strangers in German, and don't recall ever switching to English with them.
Now when I contemplate trying to find someone with whom I can practice German, I feel like I have to preface it with "but my German's really rusty." As for my French, it's so far behind that I'm not sure I could really go through with a practice session of any sort, for fear butchering the language in front of a native speaker.
But I know that I won't get better at any language until I go back to being unafraid of making mistakes and embarrassing myself again. In other words, I need to become a yellow belt again.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Faking it II
There's a Sex and the City episode in which Miranda has to fake being excited about a sonogram because everyone else expects her to be excited about finding out that she is having a boy. After trying to fight everyone else's expectations, she gives up. She responds to someone else's "Oh my God, Miranda! You're having a boy! Aren't you so excited? Oh my God!" with an obviously fake and forced smile.
Miranda had to fake it, but wasn't good at it.
I'm not good at faking it either. In fact, I'm terrible. I don't have to fake being excited about any sonograms, but I often feel like I'm expected to fake a personality I don't have. My mother would always lecture me growing up that girls have to smile all the time, and in a way so have most other people I've encountered. Despite being 33 years old, I guess I still fall under the category of "girls." It seems that if I don't go around smiling and giggling a lot, I'm scolded by any number of people, including random office mates with whom I barely converse, complete strangers on the subway, and cab drivers.
"Smile!"
Like Miranda, I've put up a resistance. I've wanted to yell back something like "What, I'm not giggly enough for you? Would you ask me to smile so much I were a fat hairy old man? I think not."
But, again like Miranda, I think I'm going to give in and give a fake and forced smile. I might even emit a fake giggle: "Tee hee! Tee hee hee!" The last thing that the Smile Enforcers will get from me is any shred of genuineness.
Miranda had to fake it, but wasn't good at it.
I'm not good at faking it either. In fact, I'm terrible. I don't have to fake being excited about any sonograms, but I often feel like I'm expected to fake a personality I don't have. My mother would always lecture me growing up that girls have to smile all the time, and in a way so have most other people I've encountered. Despite being 33 years old, I guess I still fall under the category of "girls." It seems that if I don't go around smiling and giggling a lot, I'm scolded by any number of people, including random office mates with whom I barely converse, complete strangers on the subway, and cab drivers.
"Smile!"
Like Miranda, I've put up a resistance. I've wanted to yell back something like "What, I'm not giggly enough for you? Would you ask me to smile so much I were a fat hairy old man? I think not."
But, again like Miranda, I think I'm going to give in and give a fake and forced smile. I might even emit a fake giggle: "Tee hee! Tee hee hee!" The last thing that the Smile Enforcers will get from me is any shred of genuineness.
Meta-feelings
I was introduced to this concept by a friend of mine. Meta-feelings are how you feel about how you feel about something or someone.
Sometimes I feel numb or apathetic toward someone who used to mean a lot to me. And then I kind of feel bad that I'm so apathetic. But then I don't feel bad enough to actually do anything, like try to be friends with said person or stay involved in his life.
Sometimes I feel numb or apathetic toward someone who used to mean a lot to me. And then I kind of feel bad that I'm so apathetic. But then I don't feel bad enough to actually do anything, like try to be friends with said person or stay involved in his life.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Economic hardships
In an attempt to become more educated about the world around me, I starting reading the news during my lunch break at work. Last week I read an article about how economic times are so hard, some American families are not able to buy presents for their children this Christmas. The story on CNN.com featured an American family in particular. Feeling sympathetic, I clicked to read the full story. The mother of the family explained that last year, she had spent $600 on presents for their three-year-old daughter. This year, they can't afford to do that.
So by "not being able to buy presents," what they really meant is that they are no longer able to spend $600 on presents for their daughter who was three the previous year. (Do three-year olds even covet material goods, or equate love with hefty price tags, the way some adults do? And if not, is it not alarming that their parents are trying to teach them to covet and equate that way?)
The story reminded me of another one I had read two days before I read that one. The other story was about economic hardships in Haiti. Times are so hard in Haiti that Haitian mothers often have to choose which of their children will live and which will die by deciding which will get to eat and which won't.
So by "not being able to buy presents," what they really meant is that they are no longer able to spend $600 on presents for their daughter who was three the previous year. (Do three-year olds even covet material goods, or equate love with hefty price tags, the way some adults do? And if not, is it not alarming that their parents are trying to teach them to covet and equate that way?)
The story reminded me of another one I had read two days before I read that one. The other story was about economic hardships in Haiti. Times are so hard in Haiti that Haitian mothers often have to choose which of their children will live and which will die by deciding which will get to eat and which won't.
Faking it
During my most recent trip to Europe, I finally met some native French speakers who didn't mind speaking French to me: Air France stewardesses. They might have been duped into thinking that I actually speak French fluently, because our conversation was limited to my choices of beverage and of the in-flight meal. I faked French fluency by practicing the phrases in my head, then delivering them with complete confidence as the stewardesses approached me.
I was elated to speak French to a French person and not receive a scowl in return; I was even more delighted when they spoke French back to me. Before that, the only French people I'd met who did not scowl at me for attempting to speak French were my French instructors.
Speaking with the Air France stewardesses made me realize that it was easier than I thought to fake French fluency. The key was to speak with confidence and a touch of arrogance, and I would be taken for a native French speaker.
When I had dinner in Pisa later that night, I faked it in Italian by mimicking whatever the Italian restaranteur said to me. "Un acqua naturale?" he asked.
"Si, un acqua naturale, per favore," I responded, making a mental note to distinguish the kind of water I wanted when ordering water in Italy.
After my first night in Italy, it occurred to me that it might be possible to fake fluency in a foreign language, at least for surface interactions. One might be able to fake it by mastering ten or so key phrases and picking up the rest from street signs, magazine covers, and listening in on others' conversations.
Then I realized that I am often faking it in English when I talk to strangers. I fake it in English not because I have trouble with the language, but because I often don't want to make a full effort to participate in a conversation. Many a time when I find myself an unwilling participant in a conversation with a stranger, I don't actually listen. I fake it by tuning in only a fraction of the time, and by responding with a few well-placed key phrases such as "absolutely," "you're right," and "I see." I seem to fake it very well, because the strangers seem to think that I'm very engaged in the conversation. Then they leave convinced that I find them interesting and that I'll call them at the number they gave me. Then I feel bad that I faked it. But not that bad.
I was elated to speak French to a French person and not receive a scowl in return; I was even more delighted when they spoke French back to me. Before that, the only French people I'd met who did not scowl at me for attempting to speak French were my French instructors.
Speaking with the Air France stewardesses made me realize that it was easier than I thought to fake French fluency. The key was to speak with confidence and a touch of arrogance, and I would be taken for a native French speaker.
When I had dinner in Pisa later that night, I faked it in Italian by mimicking whatever the Italian restaranteur said to me. "Un acqua naturale?" he asked.
"Si, un acqua naturale, per favore," I responded, making a mental note to distinguish the kind of water I wanted when ordering water in Italy.
After my first night in Italy, it occurred to me that it might be possible to fake fluency in a foreign language, at least for surface interactions. One might be able to fake it by mastering ten or so key phrases and picking up the rest from street signs, magazine covers, and listening in on others' conversations.
Then I realized that I am often faking it in English when I talk to strangers. I fake it in English not because I have trouble with the language, but because I often don't want to make a full effort to participate in a conversation. Many a time when I find myself an unwilling participant in a conversation with a stranger, I don't actually listen. I fake it by tuning in only a fraction of the time, and by responding with a few well-placed key phrases such as "absolutely," "you're right," and "I see." I seem to fake it very well, because the strangers seem to think that I'm very engaged in the conversation. Then they leave convinced that I find them interesting and that I'll call them at the number they gave me. Then I feel bad that I faked it. But not that bad.
Sunday, December 07, 2008
What Suzanne really wants
This weekend, I slept in late, worked out at the gym, went to Taekwondo practice, tidied up my apartment, fixed the hem of one of my favorite dresses, had dinner with friends, partied with friends, had a few friends over for drinks, watched Alias, etc. In other words, I didn't work at all.
I want to have this kind of weekend a lot. And I also want to not feel guilty about it.
I want to have this kind of weekend a lot. And I also want to not feel guilty about it.
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