My Interactive Christmas List

Well, it's about that time. This list will continue to be modified, so keep an eye on the link in the sidebar.


DVDs:

Harold and Maude . This movie is simply amazing.

Music:

Spoon - Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga and/or Gimme Fiction
Mineral – The Power of Falling
The Best of Morrissey


iTunes cards are awesome.

My speakers are on the fritz. As in, the left on works but the right one doesn't. I'm not sure if that means I should get new ones or not.

EDIT: Maybe not, because when I get an apartment next year, I might want to bring my stereo. Then again, we shall see.


Books:
Contemporary acclaimed fiction. Fun things. Nothing academic, seriously. I won’t find time to read it.

Thomas Wolfe: Look Homeward Angel - I've always been in love with a particular quote from this novel but have never read it.

I'd like to read this: The World Without Us.

DO NOT BUY ME SELF HELP BOOKS. That is not a Christmas present.


Clothes:

I have a lot of clothes. Clothes are tricky. But I love clothes and the last few times you’ve found stuff, you’ve been shockingly on the mark.

Remember when we found this? The site says they're out of stock online, so run to the store!

Cute band tees are always a go if I like the band. I'm really into band tees.
A great site for this is Merch Now. The Fall of Troy has a particularly good selection. I'm particularly fond of this one but I like most of them. For a list of acceptable bands, check my blog profile. For all tees: if it’s a unisex tee, the smaller the better (Youth M/L or Adult S). If it’s a girls’ cut, size M.

I did not buy a Brand New shirt at the Tsongas show, even though I really want one, because I'm not big on the curret designs or the venue prices. I'd sure like one though. They're in my top ten. I rather like this one even though it doesn't come in girly sizes.

I love hoodies so much right now. I have so many though.

Avoid pants. All I want are more jeans like the tight stretchy boot-leg black Levis I bought in 1999, but I don't think they exist anymore.


Stocking Stuffers:

I eat this stuff for breakfast. It's at Long's. And yes, I do have a color of choice.

Similarly, I could use a dark red nail polish that's not $2.00. The one I have is the ideal color but it's just not good quality. Darker is always better.

Also, a necklace that is inexpensive, relatively large, and red-dominated.

Armwarmers are a necessary cuteness.

I love fun socks.

Headbands.


The big thing I might not want:

A drawing tablet...might or might not be good. I can't help but think it's a waste of money. It would make my scanner. which works just fine, a lot less relevant. If I'd had it for my senior project it would have been great, but I don't see myself doing something like that for a while now that I'm in science land. So I might take it off from here.

EDIT: I'm pretty sure I would rather have money, concert tickets, or a cat than a tablet.

Stay tuned for updates.

The New Pornographers at the Roxy, 10/23

The New Pornographers’ songs are almost too catchy. This is not to diminish their musical brilliance; rather, it is testament to it. But seriously, every time I’ve been listening to them it takes an active effort to dislodge the songs from my head. Granted, having one of these power pop confections sparkling through your cerebrum is no sad fate, but I’m always afraid that one day (though it hasn’t happened yet) I’ll get tired of the thing or its magic will stop working on me. Of course, the best way to dislodge an NPs song from your head is to think of another NPs song. Any will do. It’s that great.

There are exactly eight New Pornographers, all of which were on stage Tuesday night. All of them have other musical projects, whether lesser known bands or solo careers, btu this group has really thrown them all into the indie limelight. The leader is Carl Newman, a burly blond bearded man who looks like he could be your “cool” uncle. And if Carl is the brains behind the band, Neko Case is the soul. She sings on almost every song, sometimes taking the lead part and other times backing up for Carl. Neko also has made a name for herself as a solo artist, and apparently is often doing her solo stuff while the Nps are touring, leaving keyboardist Kathryn Calder has to take over her vocal duties. Luckily, tonight we got the full octet on the stage, and witnessed the beauty of the combined vocals of Neko and Kathryn against Carl. The fourth Pornographer who sometimes sings is Dan Bejar, whose first priority is his band Destroyer and who has a tendency to leave and hang around offstage between “his” songs. Bassist John Collins is also a member of Destroyer. Drummer Kurt Dahle, guitarist Todd Fancy, and (I kid you not) synthesizer/video director Blain Thurier round out the group.

The Roxy is an 18-plus venue, so the kids stayed home, which was kind of nice. Despite that, it was a young crowd compared to Tori, and it seemed like even more men were there than women. I was amused by the number of people wearing glasses, of the thick-black-rimmed variety and otherwise. Most amusing to me was the fact that I ran into Professor Jason Ur, currently on leave at Harvard, in the line. The NPs are his favorite band. Who knew? It's also a pretty small venue, and the show was sold out. Just by being on the floor, which is the only place to be unless you want to sit at the bar and drink, you're up pretty close.

Emma Pollock and her band opened with a nice set of guitar-driven ballads, occasionally channeling Joni Mitchell with songs like “Limbs.” It was good enough that I was inspired to go to her MySpace to find out the name of that song.

When the NPs came on, their name lit up behind them in old-fashioned lights. They kicked things with the pounding “All of the Things that Go to Make Heaven and Earth,” which, like about half the songs, came from the Challengers album, released just last month. They then and launched directly into the hit “Use It,” which the crowd just ate up. For the next two hours they played most of the new album interspersed with songs from their last three records, especially 2005’s Twin Cinema, the record which got me hooked on the band. The performances and songs were so consistently good that they blended together emotionally, for me, into one euphoric squee-fest. (OMG they’re playing my favorite song! Oh wait, No, THIS is my favorite song! OMG!) I got particularly excited over “The Laws Have Changed,” which is one of my top dance-like-crazy-in-my-room songs; “Challengers,” the mellow, folksy title track that had everyone entranced; and “Go Places,” my favorite song from the new album. One of Neko’s greatest vocal tracks, “Go Places” combines a deceptively simple melody with triumphant lyrics, and it played a large part of pulling me out of my depression last week. And it was oh so good live. The crowd also got really into “Twin Cinema” and the irresistible “Sing Me Spanish Techno,” a poppy classic that got even the most impassive hipsters to move a little on the floor. Both the latter two songs were saved until late in the set, leaving me worrying that they might not get played at all. It was one of those nights when every new set of opening chords brought a delighted smile of recognition.

Here's the full setlist (maybe a little out of order):

All of the Things that Go to Make Heaven and Earth
Use It
Myriad Harbor
Jackie, Dressed in Cobras
Spirit of Giving
All the old Showstoppers
The Electric Version
Challengers
Mass Romantic
My Rights Versus Yours
The Laws Have Changed
Unguided
Twin Cinema
Adventures in Solitude
Testament to Youth in Verse
Sing Me Spanish Techno
Go Places
The Bleeding Heart Show

Encore:
These are the Fables
The Slow Descent Into Alcoholism

The band didn’t chat too much between songs, though Carl threw a few cute lines of gratitude out at the crowd. With so many players on stage, it never felt crowded, but some of the quieter members tended to blend into the background behind the front lines of Neko, Carl, and Kathryn. Whenever Dan showed up for one of his songs, all eyes were on him. He exuded apathetic cool, muttering Velvet Underground-esque vocals between swigs of beer. I am not sure how a huge and diverse group like this functions in real life, but on stage it worked like a bright shiny machine.

The last song before the encore was one of my favorites, “The Bleeding Heart Show.” With its buildup from percolating verses to a rolling boil of “hey-las,” it was a perfect climax. It’s one of those songs that just grows and grows until you’re swamped in harmonic bliss. And everyone knew it was the end, and we all danced.

The two-song encore was great, but nothing compared to that finale. It was a thoroughly solid show and the best Tuesday night I’ve had in ages. I’m pretty sure the New Pornographers make the best happy music around these days. Their lyrics may be obtuse and ironic, but the songcraft is the stuff of joy. Take that, hipsters.

Tori Amos at the Orpheum

This is who I wish I could be:



Last night, I went to my first Tori Amos concert. It was really powerful, because I've been a fan of Tori for almost as long as I've been a fan of good music. I first noticed her in middle school when "Silent All These Years" – despite being five years old by then – was still getting frequent airplay on Star 98.7. The song occupied a slot on my mix tapes (oh, those were the days) next to Jewel, The Gin Blossoms, and other things I haven’t listened to in years. I distinctly remember stopping by my friend Darcy’s sister’s place on our way to San Deigo and seeing her CD case full of Tori’s stuff. Hm, I thought. When I got deep into Pumpkins fandom in 1999, the alt.music boards were raving about her latest release, To Venus and Back. So I got it, as well as her debut Little Earthquakes. Since then I’ve always considered her my favorite female musician out there. I went through a particularly strong Tori period in 2006. She's in my all-time contemporary top tier. So this was a big deal.

As usual, I was curious to see what the demographic spread of this audience would be. As I suspected, it was quite diverse. There were a lot of couples there, ranging from 15 to 40, and I wondered how many of the male halves were tagalongs or dragalongs. There were a few girl couples, and I spotted two guys that I suspected were an item as well. Directly in front of us were more of those ubiquitous, teenie-weenie black-hoodie-and-jeanagers that insist on following me around, and yet, there were even a few gray heads in the audience without associated adolescent baggage.

The opener came on, a young, barefoot guy with an acoustic guitar and a lot of fancy stuff down at his feet. He used his guitar as a percussive instrument to accompaniy his own playing, and was really quite skilled at this. His voice reminded me at times of Brian Molko from Placebo. I wish I had caught his name or seen it in print, because I don’t think I’ve seen someone play quite like that, and I’m curious to see what his story is.

At last, Tori’s three piece band began to play. The drummer and bassist occupied the back corners, while the guitarist hung around at left stage. In the center stood a piano bench, flanked on one hand by a grand piano and on the other by an electronic keyboard on top of an upright piano. Tori's throne. The song was the poppy “Bouncing Off Clouds,” one of the catchy standouts from the latest album, American Doll Posse. A bright white strobe light layered over pitch black set the tone for the night, which turned out, for better or worse, to be a veritable light show. Tori emerged with dark hair, a dark purple dress and heels. She was playing Clyde, one of five alter egos (the 'Posse', which includes herself) she assumes on ADP. The songs on the record are divided among these characters, and “Bouncing Off Clouds” is Clyde’s song. So were the other new selections played during the first set. She has been playing a different character for the beginning of each show on this tour. Clyde, supposedly based on the Greek Persephone, had a distinct way of moving and being that was different from Tori's, slightly more Stevie Nicks, perhaps. But there was no mistaking Tori's incredible singing, which was even more angelic, raw, and emotive live than on record.

By limiting herself to one character's set of ADP songs, Tori allowed plenty of room for her classics. The second song she launched into was the title track from Little Earthquakes, letting the audience know that their old favorites would not be ignored. In fact, half of the offerings were from previous albums. With a fifteen-year career and a cult-like fan following such as she has, that is probably the best strategy. And it was clear that as may times as she must have played the mid-nineties songs, she was far from tired of them. In “Earthquakes,” the rising desperation of the climactic mantra, “Give me life / give me pain/ give me my / self again” rang as true as if it were spontaneously created. Set one continued with the ADP tracks “Girl Disappearing” (a personal favorite of mine) and “Beauty of Speed,” as well as the darkly textured "Juarez" and a theatrically gestured “Little Amsterdam."

“Clyde” left to change costumes and return to her identity as “Tori.” I realized this was the second concert I’d been to in a row that involved alter egos and costume change, and wondered what that said about me. While she was off, the boys in the band rocked out in a pretty kickass interlude.

Tori strutted back out in an intensely sparkly one-piece that caught whatever colors the lights were favoring, which in this case was gold. The song was “Big Wheel,” a saucy, uptempo ADP standout sung – again, like all the new material that followed – by the “Tori” character. Oozing confidence, Tori chanted, “I am an M-I-L-F, don’t you forget.” It’s so true. Even with her controversial straightened hair, which I love, she may be the hottest 44-year old in the business. This was one number from ADP I was really eager to see live, and it didn’t disappoint. Tori's sexual energy dominates the stage in a way that is wholly different from the pop-sexuality in a Britney or even a Madonna gig. It has a spontaneous, wild, organic dimension that most female performers fail to harness. Even in her most theatricized moments, Tori Amos is unabashedly real. In her impassioned performance of "Spacedog", Tori straddled the bench with one hand on each keyboard. The powerful "Sugar" was followed by a rousing rendition of “Cornflake Girl,” a perennial favorite. Half-on and half-off the bench, she attacked the upper registers of the grand piano like and injured animal struggling to escape as cheers went up in recognition. If anything, her older songs seemed to bring out more passion than mid-career material like “Spring Haze.” By contrast we were spellbound during the eerie, delicate “Bells For Her,” which once again had Tori seemingly suspended between keyboards. At one point, she played an absolutely gorgeous thing I'd never heard, one of my favorites of the nights, which I later confirmed was pure improv. That's my girl.

Tori took a moment to chat with us a bit, leading up to a cute impromptu ditty about how she hates going through border check (the next show is in Montreal). She manages to come off as both ribald and demure, her quiet speech casually peppered with obscenities. This is, after all, a person who once dated Trent Reznor. A woman at the end of our row, who was kind enough to share her binoculars with us, had happened to meet Tori outside the theater at 4pm when the buses had arrived. She had hugged her and gotten her album signed. I was intensely jealous of this. But perhaps to have met two of my idols in one month would have been too much to ask the gods of fandom.

As rich and powerful as the band’s accompaniment was, the emotional core of the night came when Tori and her keyboards played alone for a few songs in the middle of the show. I almost cried during the poignant “China,” which hit me harder than ever in the wake of the last few months. I pulled myself together for "Merman," But then, when the opening chords of “Northern Lad” sounded, I knew I was doomed. It’s hard to choose a favorite song from such a deep and affecting catalogue, but “Northern Lad” is a real contender for my heart. And it was the one I had been most consciously hoping to hear live, and yes, I was going to cry. The emotion of that chorus, those high notes, was just chill-inducing.

I had gotten so wrapped up in "Northern Lad" I didn't even realize that the band had returned. I was kind of let down by the hit "A Sorta Fairytale," the only song she played from Scarlet's Walk, which seemed almost mumbled after the outpouring of the previous song. the only song from . The new song "Code Red" came to life on the stage, taking on a heavy, almost violent quality entirely absent in the recording, and capped off the second act with a bang.

Of course, there was an encore. There were two. I was so excited when the low rumble of Precious Things began. The greatest angry Tori song ever, played live...it was awesome. Then came the bright "Parasol." The final encore was the pair of classics "God" and "Hey Jupiter." We had been waiting to hear the former all night, jumping at false alarms, and the latter was absolutely heartbreaking.

I felt like I had been completely filled by fifteen years of Tori's music comprising eight years of my life as a fan. Only as we boarded the train did I begin to think of the dozens of other songs I did not get to hear. Wouldn't it have been great to hear "Winter" or "Happy Phantom?" At least one more song from Scarlet's Walk or Choirgirl? And then I started thinking that my Tori concert would not be my last.

Breaking down the double standards

I am more than a little amused by yesterday’s column in the Harvard Crimson. Alexandra Petri seems to imply that Drew Faust is a hopeful icon for women because she’s not wearing makeup or trying to appear "effortlessly hot." Well…

First of all, with all due respect, President Faust is 50 years old. If she were trying to be "hot," in any conventional sense, it would be very weird. I could say the same thing for Hillary Clinton, who does wear makeup. Well put-together? Sure. "Effortlessly hot?" Nah.

Secondly, the meat of the column seems concerned that women not only enjoy themselves less than men, but that one of the things they do enjoy is their daily beauty routine. Petri suggests that if women are indeed beautifying themselves for themselves, rather than because of societal burdens, it is "almost more disturbing." I ask, why? As long as we enjoy it, can’t we at least have that enjoyment without feeling guilty about it as well? If an aspiring intellectual such as myself enjoys the act of applying eyeliner, does that somehow make me less of role model for ambitious, brainy young women?

…Okay, maybe I should have used another example. But this isn't about me.

For Petri, the fact that a woman who doesn’t wear makeup can be elected to such a high position is a step forward. And granted, the double standard is evident: imagine if Hillary Clinton got up to the debate platform without a daub of Maybelline. It just wouldn't happen. As is to be expected in a male-dominated society, women are expected to look good and perform; men are judged on far more lenient aesthetic grounds. But is the ultimate ideal, then, for women to regress to the slovenliness typical of most straight American males? Or, rather, should we strive towards equality by requiring men to actually groom themselves in the morning? If it's true that women enjoy getting dolled up so much, it's only fair not to deprive the men of this enjoyment. While I agree with Petri's general point that it's wonderful that Harvard can hire a woman who doesn't wear makeup, I argue that it would be much more progressive to elect a MALE president who DID wear makeup. And much more fun for weird girls like me.

On a related note, I think Petri would find the Archaeology wing to be another beacon of hope: I have noticed I am the only one among us who regularly wears eye makeup to class. And by regularly I mean imperatively, and by eye makeup I mean are you sure you didn’t lose your way to the MCR video shoot. But no one holds it against me. Au contraire, my advisor in particular seems taken with the whole thing. My latest adventure in faculty-fashion interaction transpired yesterday morning, when Noreen tried on my red striped ballet flats and paraded around the lab, showing them off to the older grads. Sometimes I wonder if I was hired solely for the amusement of the sensible adults.

Meanwhile, I’m in the unfortunate stage of post-breakup recovery where I find lots and lots of people attractive. This includes several unnamed women in my department, an extremely androgynous, coffee-drinking boy of dubious consent age sighted at the Coop, and the guy who rang me up at the comic book store when I went to purchase Issue #2 of The Umbrella Academy. Men who work in comic book stores are not supposed to be attractive! Obviously there is something wrong with my brain.

Coming soon: Tori Amos and The New Pornographers live; the new Radiohead album and what it means for the music industry; critical praise of The Umbrella Academy; how Dashboard Confessional proves that sometimes pathos is mightier than talent; and Al Gore as a Nobel Peace Prize winner.

I'm in charge of department flair

The more time I spend in the Anthropology Department, the more surprised I am that no successful sitcom set in the absurdist world of academia has ever been created. I can easily envision a Scrubs-like universe in which hapless graduate students awkwardly navigate the twists and turns of departmental politics, crazy professors, undergraduate upstarts, and copious amounts of alcohol. Then I remember that academics are boring and nobody wants to watch people do their homework on T.V.

At any rate, we’ve found that the department is full of odd little moments. Consider the moment when one’s eminent advisors make their presence known by poking one’s pyramid-studded belt from behind:

Noreen: *poke poke*

Me (turning around, awkwardly): “Yep, that’s my belt.”

Gary (with the delighted pride of a sixty-year-old man who feels hip enough to assign subcultures using diagnostic fashion articles): “She’s punk."

Noreen (who had the previous week complimented my sneakers): “She’s our new fashion plate.”

That was the highlight of my Wednesday. Gary's declaration was the cutest thing ever, and I lacked the heart to tell him that anyone who actually was punk would be squirming in her Chucks at sight of the argyle-and-broken-heart motif branded across mine. When I am the department’s fashion plate, we know we’re in trouble.

I really am making a name for myself in this place, though, for better of for worse. For our Origins of Agriculture section, to liven up Friday’s discussion of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic A and B, I made everyone “PPNA” and “PPNB” sandwiches – pita, peanut butter, Nutella, and apple/banana, respectively. They were quite delicious. I got the impression this kind of thing had never happened before in all the years this course had been taught. I'm not quite sure what Professor Meadow was thinking, but I suspect some combination of "Oh goody, I knew I skipped lunch for a reason" and "I wasn't aware I had been transfered to an elementary school." Our T.A., a native of Georgia (the country, not the state), refused to partake and expressed his disappointment that the pitas weren't filled with something Middle Eastern. That, ladies and gentlemen, is called missing the point.

Yesterday I went to Tufts homecoming tailgate to meet Mel, which was interesting. It was great to see her, the weather was beautiful, and I really enjoyed myself once I'd put away some cider. However, it made me realize how very little I missed college life, and how very different my experience with college was from hers. I can never see myself flying cross-country for Yale homecoming. I personally have no desire to see drunken frat boys push over a table covered in uneaten food and half-empty beer cans onto the grass ever again. The same goes for a dozen people bouncing in the back of a pickup and raining cooler ice drippings on the masses below. Not my scene.

Of course, when I realize the alternative is watching a football game, the tailgate starts looking pretty good.

We're in Grad School Now. It's Serious Business.

Why yes, the name of the blog has changed. "Trailhobbit" was near and dear to my heart. Don't get me wrong. But as someone who has neither watched/read about hobbits nor set foot on a bona fide trail in some time, I felt it was time for a change. Particularly since the confusion with the original tripod blog led me to tack the inelegant "V.2" onto the end, I thought the name was a little, well, archaic.

Why The Holoscenester? Well, it's a pun. The Holocene is the geological epoch from 11,500 years ago to the present. The Holoscene, therefore, is the scene that has been big for the past 11.500 years. You may know it better as Civilization, but that's a problematic term these days that no true Holoscenester would ever use in earnest. Those who consciously follow the trends of this Holoscene are called Holoscenesters. Or anthropologists.

Which brings me to another point. I'm going to try to up the sophistication in this blog a little. *GASP* No way! Okay, sophistication -- which clearly does not encompass fangirling over Gerard Way and copious use of emoticons -- may be a strong word. Let's try...relevance. Remember when Trailhobbit used to report on the news? Well, the Holoscenester can't, I mean can't bear to read the news much anymore, and besides there are trillions of semi-professional and professional blogs covering that already. Instead I'd like to post (1) commentary on life as a grad student archaeologist, (2) actual cool stuff in archaeology, (3) anthropological observations of modern phenomena, be it the labyrinth of academia or MCR fandom. Primarily, this is still going to be a personal blog, but ideally a personal blog with a focus. There is, in theory, a difference between a blog and a LiveJournal, and I'd like to start respecting that. After all, if you're going to have four web journals, why be redundant? Mind you, I will still fangirl here when there is an actual event (concert, signing, album release) to fangirl over. And I will still occasionally make posts about what I had for dinner (see below). It's just that, in addition to those things, I hope to filter much of this blog through an anthropological lens. There will be less "I felt tired today / My default eyeliner ran out / (insert inappropriate language here)." It's about tone as much as content, and about what I leave out as much as what I put in.

Now we return to our regularly scheduled programming: What I Had For Dinner!

A month into our relationship, I finally deflowered my frying pan! I'm pretty proud of myself. When we entered class this afternoon, we were presented with leftover lunch from another event, and even though I'd already had lunch, the first rule of grad school is never turn down free food. I was disappointed by the dryness of my Tuna Niçoinnabe sandwich, and since I had, after all, eaten lunch, I thought I should take it home and salvage it. (I couldn't simply throw it away, because it contained capers.) So I decided to dress it with a couple slices of American cheese I'd snagged at a cookout some few weekends ago, slather some SmartBalance on the outsides of the dessicated rye, and grill it. In my frying pan. And guess what: it was GOOD.

FAIL of the week: Weather, Department Meetings, etc.

This post, like myself, has had no coffee and cannot hold a thought for more than three sentences.

I was supposed to be in a screening for group therapy right now. However, they called me at 8 am to tell me the doctor was not going to be in because she had been on call late last night, and I would have to reschedule for next week. When a mental health specialist is on call late at night, it makes you wonder if someone tried to kill themselves last night. This disturbs me.

What else disturbed me was that I dreamed about Nazis last night. Somehow I was on the run with a woman who I already knew would end up being killed by the Nazis, it was only a matter of time -- I had seen the future or something, I don't know. I knew she was doomed and I was in the exact same place as she was but just by luck I escaped and she didn't...it was a scary dream. It was long too, I just wish I remembered more of the story.

I think the Nazi dream arose from our deparment meeting on Monday. It was one of the most eye-opening and frustrating experiences I've had in a while. All the students brought up points that they had obviously been bringing up every single year, and every single year the profs would "consider a discussion around that subject." In other words, they don't listen to anything we say, even demands for basic needs like graduate level courses (NONE are being offered this semester). One of the professors responded to this request by stating point blank that the undergrads were smarter than we were. This is the same guy who told us that nitrogen becomes carbon by losing neutrons. And he got his B.A. and his Ph.D. here. All of us were so angry after that meeting, and we felt like total tools for coming here instead of the public schools we had all but enrolled in already. It was especially hard for me knowing how much closer I'd be to Jenny if I had chosen UCLA. I beat myself up about it. No good. :(

Fortunately my trio of advisors are some of the nicer and more sensible in the department. My main one met with me yesterday and was very encouraging. She wants to help me find a cool lab project to do. Right now we're thinking about Maya poison bottles. Poison bottles! Sweeeeeeet!!!

I thought I had my classes set: three lecture-section courses (China, South America, and the Origins of Agriculture) plus lab research time. But now my advisor is dead set I get out of the South America lecture course because it's a waste of my time to be in undergrad classes, and I know half the material, so she suggested I take a course in Social Anthro about Japan. Contemporary Japan is like obviously super awesome and I could write a paper about the hybridized past-future culture, or the aesthetics of manga, or why everyone in Tokyo dresses emo. Of course I'll probably get pressured to write about something like fishing. >> I don't want to hurt the feelings of my South America prof, because the class is already tiny and he's another of my advisors, but I'll be taking more classes with him later and I would really like to be in a seminar. I have to decide today and I hate decisions! *pouts*

My default eyeliner is nearly gone. It's only been three months. I am going to have to use my pretty-but-too-smeary one today, while I go out to buy another.

I broke my glasses (kind of) last week. I rebent them into shape but now the lens keeps falling out. I broke one of my favorite headbands, though it was probably asking to break since it was too small for my head to begin with. Note to self: stop shopping at stores for 12-year-olds.

I really want to read Umbrella Academy fanfiction, but I don't think anyone's gone there yet.

I never thought I'd say this, but I''m kind of getting excited about potential President Hillary.

And finally: WHY IS IT 90 DEGREES OUTSIDE? IT'S ALMOST OCTOBER.

My Comical Romance!

So yesterday, I met this man:

I met him at Newbury Comics on Newbury Street.

Let’s back up a bit. Earlier this week I stumbled across this little notice on the intrawebs. O RLY, I thought. Gee is signing his new comic book in Boston. That. Is rather close to me. Both out of loyalty and a genuine interest in what his odd little brain came up with, I had planned on picking up a copy of The Umbrella Academy anyway. What was the catch? I phoned Newbury, who said wristbands distributed when the store opened at 10 would guarantee priority in line when Gerard showed up at 4. My classes ran from 12 to 3. Perfect.

I woke myself up at 7:30 so I could get in line by 8:30. Conveniently, the T-stop was in clear sight of the storefront, and right away I spotted a gaggle of tired-looking teens in MCR shirts and decidedly tweemo attire. It took me a minte to realize that the line was in fact much longer – perhaps 50-60 people, including some accompanying parents. So I got in line and waited.

The kids in front of me in line were really physically small. I could tell from their vocabularies and their discussion of A.P.s that that they were high schoolers, but wow…they were small. They were all wearing blue jeans, black hoodies, studded belts, Chucks or Vans, and some article that said “My Chemical Romance” on it. They had made posters for the band, and one girl had made a black umbrella and striped scarf for her carebear and was going to give it to him. The girls were falling all over this one guy, who was nonchalantly telling stories of meeting several other bands in person. It was amusing.

More amusing, though, were the consistent expressions of bewilderment on the faces of the normal people passing by. "Who are you guys waiting in line for?" they always asked. Replies ranged from the obvious ("Gerard Way," "MCR," "My Chemical Romance," which often had to be revealed in succession to the clueless passerby) to the ironicly subtle ("It's a comic book signing") to the outright brilliant ("Godot," "Bon Jovi"). One girl didn't ask us anything, but I heard her mumble something about Avril Lavigne. Ouch. A middle-aged man muttered, "It must be the Beatles." One woman smiled brightly and said, "He's so lucky! He's got such great fans!" MCR fandom is indeed special. It seems to be contagious. The mother of a girl standing near me seemed to know everything about all the band members. "Gerard got married?" she asked me. "I wasn't sure if that was just an internet rumor."

I am absolutely fascinated by alternative youth culture, and particularly of MCR fandom. Based on this and on my concert experience in Worcester, I felt like I had two sample populations on which to base my anthropological fieldwork (though in reality it was probably the same population). My thesis is that MCR fans, like the band itself, are a unique bunch. Not your regular crop of emo kids. And I was going to include a side note on this study of mine, but it ended up doubling the length of the post, so I'll save it for a future time.

When I returned at 3:30, the line had swollen and extended down the entire block. Fortunately, my wristband enabled me to jump to the front half. As 4pm drew nearer, even more people climbed onto the back of the line. I found myself with a group of twentysomethings who worked and went to school in the area, and we commiserated over feeling old. Watching the other fans was amusing. A rather obnoxious group of youngsters wearing Burger King crowns took it upon themselves to sing MCR songs together while waiting for the signing to start. There was plenty of eyecandy for me: gorgeous girls with to-die-for hair, and boys in tight pants. But my favorite fan of all was a burly, twenty-something "tough guy" in a wifebeater who looked like he could take all of MCR out with one punch. I might have assumed he was here for his girlfriend's benefit, had the gorgeous tattoo of the Black Parade mascot on his forearm not been so strikingly visible. Now that is hardcore.

The company of my fellow collegians made the hour-long procession through the store rather enjoyable in and of itself. As we wound through the aisles, we found ourselves tempted by $8.99 CDs, Neil Gaiman anthologies, and Sid Vicious and David Bowie action figures. At that point, store workers broke the heartbreaking news to us: they would only let us give Gerard one item to sign. I can understand why they'd want to move the line along if people are demanding to get their CDs and their sneakers and their chests signed, butI was just hoping to get a signed book for Jenny along with my own. No such luck. One girl I was with was in the same situation. But we were still pretty psyched. We made bets on how much coffee Gerard would have with him. We all know him so well, it's kind of disturbing. XD

I finally got in sight of Gerard, and my heart did a little dance.

(I did not take this picture, because I'm a goody goody. I stole it from some internet girl.)

I was displeased and yet unsurprised that he wore his horrible Michael Jackson sunglasses. Seriously dude, your eyes make your face. You’re indoors. Take them the hell off! It would have felt much more personal had I been able to see his eyes. But he looked great anyway, and...surprisingly big. Well, not big, just…close-up. Life-size. Kinda like how the stuffed animals in natural history museums look so much bigger than you realized they actually were? And I loved his outift! It was so good to see him wear a tie again -- I think is meant to mirror the Umbrella Academy attire, but it also reminded me of the Not Okay getup. And his hair is looking good these days too! It's getting long and Elvis-esque. I wonder if he'll grow it back to his classic '05 look. As long as he doesn't go blond again, we're good. He had three venti Starbucks cups atop the table. I called that! I watched him sign for the girl ahead of me. Then it was my turn.

“Hi, I’m Gerard,” he said as he shook my hand.

Yeah, I know who you are, Gerard. XD He is so adorkable. LOVE.

So I told him who I was. He signed and personalized my book in silver ink, while I told him how much I love and respect what he does. I gave him a drawing of the band in their Black Parade uniforms, which I made shortly after the May concert.


From cartoonist to cartoonist. When I gave him the picture, he smiled the most genuine smile. I was so glad I had thought to bring it! He thanked me, still smiling, and I thanked him too, and went on my merry way.

The moment I got outside the door I had a bit of a fangasm. Some of the other girls were struggling to slow their heart rates as well, and smiled at me knowingly. It was a moment of silent bonding. Then I saw that the line outside the building still stretched down the block. Most of those people would not get to meet Gerard. However, they DID get to meet the local Jesus Man, who was haranguing them about how they were going to hell. They weren't buying it. It was hilarious.

I listened to TBP the whole subway ride home, while reading the comic book. I love it! The art is awesome, the story is inspired, and the whole thing glows darkly with Gerardyness. Can't wait for the second issue.

God, what a day. Hanging out with all those people, knowing that despite our differences we shared a love for this band -- the music, the men, and the art of it -- gave me a warm feeling of community. And the moment of glory was over so fast, but it was so great. I'm so lucky! He only did TWO signings - New York and Boston! As if it was possibly for me to adore this guy more.

This is me with my prize:


I really want to go as one of the Umbrella kids for Halloween, but alas, no one would get it.

So long and good night!

Busy busy busy

It’s been a few crazy days in archaeology land.

I slept poorly Wendesday night due to emotional crap, and conveniently, ALL DAY on Thursday was crammed with department activities. First, Department Orientation. I began the event by spilling my entire cup of coffee in my lap. The entire front of my pants as well as my underwear were soaked through. Everyone was staring at me, and the fact that I was saying “Fuck fuck fuck!” probably didn’t help. They were all quite concerned that I had burned myself, but the funny thing was I didn’t even notice the pain (high tolerance ftw!). I was just annoyed that I was soaking wet. Thank god I wore black jeans and the coffee didn’t even show.

Archaeo Wing luncheon. Uneventful. Met some students and faculty; got contradictory opinions on whether I need to take Organic Chemistry. My lab advisor is in Europe right now, so she was no help. Exhausted by the end. Passed on library tour and went home to “nap.”

Wine hour with Archeo and Bioanthro folk. Followed by party at Michele’s beautiful Somerville apartment. Lots of food and beer. Met people. Got even more tired.

Then came Friday, which was Anthropology Day -- basically ten short faculty presentations from 1 to 5 pm, followed by a reception with amazing food and wine. I was tired from the very beginning, and exhausted by the end. Went to reception anyway, mostly for the amazing food. I could live off free food here. I’m so tired of all my friends insisting on going out and spending money on it. >> We went out to a bar and had a few drinks with older students. It was all good, but I was so tired. I’m pretty certain I’m getting sick. I was also beginning to feel anxious about how unsuitable I was for independent archaeological fieldwork, and though my friends comforted me by reminding me of the other possibilities that lay down the line, such as lab-centric research or museum conservation, it contributed to my fatigue.

When I got home, it was only 9:30, but I can’t remember the last time I was that tired. I was supposed to go out to a party in the grad student center which literally everyone else in the dorm was attending, but I just couldn’t make it. I was so tired it hurt. I thought, if I just fell asleep and never woke up, it would be fine. I want nothing more than to sleep forever. Only slightly later did I realize the implications of that thought.

It was the thought of Jenny that snapped me out of it. I know that anything I do to hurt myself hurts her as well. That’s love I guess. Also, I got several people calling/texting me from the party, wondering where I was. I realized that people here care about me already and it was actually kind of touching.

I’m anxious for class to start Monday. Now that I’m here, the downsides to Harvard’s program are becoming more apparent. The classes situation is kind of frustrating, actually. At first glance it appears that there are myriad courses to choose from. However, most of the courses are offered every other year, and since you only have two years allocated to classes, you are kind of driven into a time slot. This is compounded by the fact that general exams happen after the third term, so you have to get all your breadth requirements done in the first three terms. This is usually impossible. Most of the profs don’t seem to make teaching a priority. At many universities, rather than general exams, second-years are expected to complete a Master’s thesis. I can see the appeal of getting the broad knowledge base instead of diving right into original research, but they sure don’t make it easy to get the background you need.

One good thing, on the other hand, is that I am certain that this is the career field that interests me most intellectually. While applying last year, I doubted myself a lot and wondered if I shouldn’t have done English or something. But all the talks on Anthro Day, as well as my conversations with other students and my explorations of the museum collections, have been very inspiring. While I am still concerned about whether I will make it through, I am confident that my failure wouldn’t be because the subject wasn’t right for me. It would be because my temperment and mental health are too fragile for the high pressure careers at the end of this track. I am going to try to work on that, because this is the most exciting, potentially fulfilling thing I can do, and it’s worth staying sane for..

Anthro Noobs!